
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap.??..... Copyright No*. 
Shelt/^.£5..-T 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



L= 



\ 



A Little Book: 

OF 

Missouri Verse 



Choice Selections from Missouri 
Verse-Writers. 



COLLECTED AND EDITED BY 

J. S. Snoddy, 

WOODSON INSTITUTE, RICHMOND, MO. 



INTRODUCTION BY 

Perry S. Rader, 

REPORTER OF THE SUPREME COURT. 








PRESS OF 

hudson-klmberly publishing co. 
Kansas City, Mo. 



7$ l f 



Copyrighted by J. S. Snoddy, 1897. 



INTRODUCTION. 



It has been my desire for a decade that the people 
of Missouri become more homogeneous. I am of the 
opinion that we do not as a people rely enough on our- 
selves. Clannishness is not needed or desired; but 
we do need to believe that among Missourians there 
are to be found those who, with proper encouragement 
at home, may become authors equal to any in 
America. 

We shall have more self-respect, a higher regard 
for our State, more love for the inhabitants of our 
commonwealth, and a livelier interest in each other, 
and hence a stronger, because a more confident, citi- 
zenship, if we will take a greater interest in Missouri 
authors, buy and read more of their books, and other- 
wise encourage them to believe that we are their 
friends. 

The people of Missouri have a common destiny. 
They should so unite as to make this commonwealth 
the brightest and best in the constellation of States. 
This cannot be done if they have a higher regard for 
the statesmen, authors, orators, and musicians of 
other States than for those of our own. 

We have not prized our writers highly enough. 
We have fallen into the habit of going to other States 
and other countries for our books. The merit of an 
author in the estimation of Missourians, it has often 
seemed to me, has increased about as the square of 
the distance of his residence from Missouri. Somehow 



6 INTRODUCTION. 

we seem to have concluded that no Missourian can 
write a book or a good poem. This ought not to be. 
We are doing ourselves great harm by this practice. 
A great writer or a genuine poet is of far greater 
value to a commonwealth, even in a material way, 
than a gold mine or a railroad. Take from Massachu- 
setts the books she has made, and there remains little 
to attract the attention of the American people. To 
forever borrow from other States our ideas, our intel- 
lectual food, indicates a general mental weakness; it 
is also to invite the constant criticism and sneers of 
other States. We must have more Missouri books. 
There is no lack of native talent of sufficient bril- 
liancy to write them; we also have a population that 
appreciates polished prose and beautiful verse. We 
need only to rely on one another, to encourage one 
another. 

If this volume is favorably received, it will encour- 
age better verse. The persons who have written the 
verses to be found within these lids have, through their 
efforts, brought brightness to many a household. As 
a native Missourian, who is proud of his State and 
believes in her people and her future, I desire to ex- 
press the hope that these literary efforts may arouse 
among our people a greater interest in Missouri 
writers. 

Perry S. Rader. 



EDITOK'S NOTE. 



Missouri has never had a great poet. We can not, 
as yet, claim for any of our verse-writers a place 
among the immortals; yet some of them have almost 
touched shoulders with genius, and many of the verses 
produced iby these writers possess such merit as to 
deserve preservation. Very few books or pamphlets 
of verse written by Missourians have been preserved 
in the libraries of our State; and, as far as T have been 
able to ascertain, no one has made a collection of their 
works with the view of preserving them. During the 
past two years, with the assistance of some of my 
pupils who have been interested in the study of local 
literature, 1 have made a small collection of Missouri 
verse. From this collection 1 have endeavored to 
select and present in book form a number of such spec- 
imens as would afford the reader a general view of 
the attainments and merits of our writers. It would 
be impossible to include all the meritorious verse in 
these selections; much, as worthy as any selected, has 
necessarily been omitted; many are too long, and all 
the worthy short ones could not be contained in "a lit- 
tle book." No comment is made on the verses select- 
ed; the field of criticism I leave to others. 

The biographical notes are chiefly to vindicate my 
claims that the writers whose verses I have used are 
Missouri writers. For this reason I have confined my 
remarks to matter-of-fact statements rather than 
eulogies. 



8 EDITOR'S NOTE. 

I take pleasure in acknowledging my obligations 
to those writers who have granted me free use of their 
copyrighted works, and especially to Mr. William M. 
Taxton, of Platte City, who has cheerfully allowed me 
to use a number of books from his private library. 
My thanks are due to publishers who have kindly 
given me permission to make extracts from their pub- 
lications. Among them are G. P. Putnam's Sons, The 
Peter Paul Book Company, Charles ScriMer's Sons, The 
Ennis Press Company, the publishers of The New York 
Independent, The Lotus, Midland Monthly, Chaperone 
Magazine, and others whose publications are men- 
tioned in the table of contents. 

J. S. Snoddy. 
Woodson Institute, Richmond, Mo. 
June 29, 1897. 



CONTENTS. 



ALEXANDER, SUSAN 175 

Mother's Picture University (Mo.) Argus 48 

ALLEN, EDWARD ARCHIBALD 175 

The Home of Our Childhood 

Illustrated Christian Weekly 123 

The Jefferson Monument. The Western Collegian 28 

To a Pessimist The Critic 129 

A Prayer for Charity The Chautauquan 162 

ALLEN, LYMAN WHITNEY 175 

In the Orchard New York Independent 25 

The Coming of His Feet. New York Independent 81 

ANDIS, JESSIE 176 

The Dishwasher Coin (Iowa) Gazette 53 

ARBUCKLE, CLARENCE E 176 

The Storm-Cloud and the Bow 

Cassville (Mo.) Republic 54 

BAILEY, JOHN JAY 176 

The Bereaved New Jerusalem Magazine 62 

BARNARD, WILLIAM C 176 

To a Nightingale Chicago Ledger 59 

Spirit Dreams Aurora (Mo.) Advertiser 83 

BASKETT, NATHANIEL M 177 

Purity and Hope in Death. . . .Visions of Fancy 116 

BATTSON, HATTIE E 177 

The God behind the Blue 110 



10 CONTENTS. 

BENTON, MARY J 177 

Tribute to Joe Shelby Kansas City Times 108 

BRYANT, MARY 177 

Wild Iris 37 

BYARS, WILLIAM VINCENT . . . 177 

Undine Studies in Verse 19 

Resurrection Studies in Verse 80 

November and June Studies in Verse 84 

CLINE, WILLIAM H 178 

Popping Corn Kansas City Times 64 

COBB, ELIZABETH DRAKE 178 

A Star in the West 17 

CODY, ADELA STEVENS 178 

"Ich Dien" St. Louis Republican 99 

White Clouds St. Louis Republican 153 

COFFMAN, GEORGE W 179 

Faith's Triumph 157 

DONEGHY, M. W. PREWITT 179 

Ane Drap o' Rain Century Magazine 137 

DUGAN, ANNIE A. STEVENS 179 

As Years Go By Rural World 100 

DUNN, GEORGE W 180 

The Temple of Justice Poems 155 

EDWARDS, JOHN N., Jr 180 

Faith St. Louis Republic 106 

The Wind in the Eaves 118 

The Bride of Death 136 

ELLIS J. BRECKENRIDGE 180 

Another Birthday 

Louisville (Ky.) Courier-Journal 79 



CONTENTS. 11 

ELLIS, JOHN WILLIAM 180 

Sonnet on Receiving a Rosebud 

Cincinnati (Ohio) Enquirer 160 

FERREL, GEORGE W 181 

At the Gate 171 

The Mystic Angel, Sleep 1(51) 

FIELD, EUGENE 181 

The Little Peach. .Little Book of Western Verse 47 

Christmas Treasures 

Little Book of Western Terse 96 

FREEMAN, THERESA J 182 

The Legend of Zufii St. Louis Truth 147 

GIBSON, R. E. LEE 182 

A Lyric of the Hazelnut Patch 

Indian Legend and other Poems 34 

Eugene Field 40 

An Indian Legend 

Indian Legend and other Poems 74 

GORE, JAMES F 182 

Autumn Rain 68 

GRIFFITH, WILLIAM EMORY 183 

The Evening Primrose Poet Lore 89 

The Sisters The Lotus 93 

GRISSOM, ARTHUR 183 

To a Butterfly Midland Monthly 20 

Coaching Beaux and Belles 141 

The Old-Fashioned Girl Beaux and Belles 145 

HASTINGS, FRANK S 183 

Two Missions Kansas City Star 33 

Baby Asleep Kansas City Star 70 

Cripple Tim Chicago Tribune 91 



12 CONTENTS. 

HEREFORD, WILLIAM R 184 

To Riley Kansas City Star 65 

The End of the Season Truth 73 

Sweetheart of the Long Ago 

Kansas City Times 133 

HOFFMAN, M. L '. ... 184 

Missouri St. Helena and other Poems 172 

Back of All St. Helena and other Poems 71 

HUTCHISON, HORACE A 184 

Our Country. .Old Nick Abroad and other Poems 85 

IVORY, BERTHA MAY 185 

Murillo's "Immaculate Conception" 

A Cluster of Roses 88 

KELLEY, LILLIAN 185 

Time and I Verses 140 

Reflection Verses 163 

KING, WILLIS P 185 

The Long Ago Columbia (Mo) Herald 44 

LYNCH, S. A 18(3 

Lines to a Lily. . . .The California (Ho.) Herald 113 
Nature's Lovers. ..The California (Mo.) Herald 166 

McCAUSLAND, AUSTIN ARNOLD 186 

Flos Caelestis The Sunday-School Times 95 

August The Lotus 104 

MeCAUSLAND, WALTER A 186 

Sleet 23 

Mcdonald, j. allen 186 

The Old Hat Richmond (Mo.) Conservator 164 

McFADEN, MILDRED S 187 

June Roses Chaperone Magazine 27 

Only Chaperone Magazine 60 



CONTENTS. 13 

McINTYRE, MINNIE 187 

The Three Sisters Kansas City Star 55 

A Tragedy Kansas City Journal 72 

Second Life Kansas City Star 151 

McKINNEY, ELIZABETH U 187 

Ode to the Night 143 

MARSHALL, JULIUS LUTHER 188 

Voices of the Past Slater (Mo.) Index 98 

MUSICK, MARIA U 188 

Just Beyond Carrollton (Mo.) Democrat 102 

OGDEN, G. W 188 

Dream Drift Kansas City Star 94 

PAXSON, JOHN MEYERS 188 

Christmas Trees in Heaven 

Southern Homestead 39 

Little Girl St. Louis Post-Dispatch 146 

PAXTON, WILLIAM M 188 

To a Red-Head Poems 63 

PHIFER, C. L 189 

Air Castles WiTd Flowers 61 

QUARLES, JAMES A 189 

Christmas Snow The Southern Collegian 30 

READ, ALICE D 189 

The Dream Ship 127 

REEDY, WILLIAM MARION 190 

The Vanishing One 132 

To a Deaf Lady 135 

Eugene Field 150 

RUNCIE, CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY 190 

This Would I Do. . .Poems, Dramatic and Lyric 78 



14 CONTENTS. 

SCHWEIOH, VAN CLEAVE W 190 

Wordsworth 139 

SHARP, GRACE HEWITT 190 

Charity The Norns 114 

In Answer The Norns 134 

Life The Norns 154 

SMITH, T. BERRY 191 

The Hieroglyphics of God . . . Central Collegian 41 
Every Little Helps. . .Missouri School Journal 50 

The Lightning The Sunday-School Visitor 52 

Trifles St. Louis Christian Advocate 56 

SPHAR, WILLENE MARIE 191 

There 's a Time 138 

STOCKTON, CORA M 191 

Pansies 

The Shanar Dancing-Girl and other Poems 170 

SYDENSTRICKER, H. M 191 

Psalm 133. ..Louisville (Ky.) Christian Observer 159 

SYLVESTER, WILLIAM D 192 

The Lily and the Pansy. Amsterdam (Mo.) Chief 38 

THISTLE, MARY U 192 

Air Castles 142 

TOZIER, ANNE 192 

The Sunflower Kansas City Star 49 

The Charioteer Kansas City Star 67 

Two Dawns Kansas City Star 119 

TRIPLETT, FRANK 193 

Tempus Fugit 87 

VROOM, ADELAIDE E 193 

What Brings the Y ear I.Huntsville (Mo.) Herald 161 



CONTENTS. 15 

WALSER, GEORGE H 193 

Violet The Bouquet 122 

WARDER, GEORGE W 193 

Governor Crittenden's Silver Wedding 

Utopian Dreams 130 

WEBB, LORENAM 194 

Rain in Winter 126 

WEEMS, ANNA M 194 

The Indian Pink Hoberly (Mo.) Headlight 105 

A Flower There Bloomed 

St. Charles (Mo.) Cosmos 107 

The Magical Ring. .Earring Hall (Eng.) Record 117 

WELTY, EDWIN ARTHUR 194 

A New Year Retrospection 

Ballads of the Bivouac and Border 120 

WILSON, F. BURDETTE 194 

The Haunted Castle 57 

Dead Nations 115 

WILSON, GEORGE 195 

By the River, Once and Again 

Lexington (Mo.) Intelligencer 128 

YOUNG, ROSE E 195 

Evening Mists 51 

ZUENDT, ERNST ANTON 195 

Im griinen Wald Ebbe nnd Fluth 168 



A STAR IN THE WEST. 

Here 's to Missouri, 

Bright Gem of the West! 
With her sons gay and gallant, 

The bravest and best; 
With her wide-spreading prairies 

And deep forest dells, 
Her bright, rolling rivers, 

And clear, springing wells. 

We love thee, Missouri! 

Though some may despise 
Thy warm-hearted spirits 

And bright, loving eyes. 
We love thee, Missouri! 

Thy sweet, rustic grace, 
Thy plain, home-spun manners, 

And broad, honest face. 

Thy mountains, Missouri, 

Look fair as the morn ; 
Thy hills and thy valleys 

Are covered with corn. 
Thy cattle are grazing 

On a thousand green hills — 
The tall trees are waving 

Above thy cool rills. 



18 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Blithe birds thy green forests 

Are singing among; 
They make thy homes vocal 

With music and song. 
The rainbow hath fallen 

From its home in the showers, 
And it lies on thy prairies 

A carpet of flowers. 

Thy fields, O Missouri, 

Are waving with grain. 
Thy orchards are teeming 

Near every green lane. 
Thy proud, rising cities 

Dot over the land; 
Thy school-houses and churches, 

How proudly they stand! 

"While the star-spangled banner 

In triumph shall wave, 
O'er the land of the free 

And the home of the brave," 
'Twill shelter no prouder, 

No nobler than thee, 
Missouri! Missouri! 

Bright home of the free. 

Elizabeth Drake Cobb. 
July, 1856. 



UNDINE. 

Undine was but a rainbow, seen at eve 
Above the sea, mixed with the crystal dew 
That shines upon the violet's petals blue. 
From such brief, dream-wrought lives, the sun- 
beams weave 
Enchanted shapes most potent to deceive 
The haunted thoughts of poets. Yet she 

grew 
Through pain of love immortal, wise and 
true, 
GainiDg a soul the while she learDed to grieve! 

Fair lives of joy shall pass aud fade away; 
They last but as sea-mist and blown, white 
foam; 
But twice-born souls of truth shall live for aye 

And in far heavens find an eternal home, 
A fairer life, a rarer, purer day, 

Enduring a,s the sky's blue, star-set dome! 
William Yincent Byars. 



19 



TO A BUTTERFLY. 

Butterfly, with your point-lace wings 

And body of silk and dust of star, 
Why is it the dull brown throstle sings, 
With the sweetness of mythical heavenly 
things, 
While you are still as dead things are? 

Even the cricket, in dress of woe, 

Cheers my way by the walls of wheat, 

While you, a gaudy and idle beau, 

Flutter about all day on show, 

With never a note that is glad or sweet! 

Where have you come from, Butterfly? 

Did you fly out of the sun at dawn? 
Are you a bit of the summer sky, 
Blown by winds from your place on high? 

Where shall you go when the night draws on? 

Frail in your beauty of lace and gold, 
Where do you fly when the frost is come? 

Where do you hide when the heath is cold? 

Alas! your beauty can not grow old, 
And wherefore is beauty that must be dumb? 



2(1 



TO A BUTTERFLY. 21 

What is your mission here on the earth? 

To bring us tidings of peaceful June? 
Surely you have some honest worth; 
Oh, can it be you 're of lowly birth, 

And once were only a black cocoon? 

Out of a prison of mold you spring? 

You in your beauty come from a clod? 
You but a worm and a hideous thing! 
You with your gold and gossamer wing, 

Did you not come from the garden of God? 

Butterfly, in that earthy womb, 

While yet you hovered 'twixt life and death, 
Did you have dreams of the world of bloom, 
Dreams of the day you should burst your tomb 

As did the Savior of Nazareth? 

And when at last you could fly away, 

As free as the fragrant winds of morn, 
Like a soul forsaking its tomb of clay 
To dwell in a heaven of endless day, 

Then were you happy that you were born? 

Now, as we roam through the fields of grain, 
So blithe and careless of foes and Fate, 

Butterfly, let us be friends again; 

Forgive my fancies adverse and vain, — 
'Tis better, I say, to be fair than great. 



22 MISSOURI TERSE. 

Whatever is lovely is good, else He 
Who made all things with a certain aim 

Would never have set you from prison free. 

You in your beauty are more to me 
Than all the glitter and sham of Fame. 

Now, winged sprite, when I close my eyes, 

And lift them so to the sun above, 
Oh, I can see you in wondrous guise 
Winging your way throughout the skies, 
In all the hues of hope and of love! 

Upward and upward you take your flight, 
As if you were drawn by a magnet flower! 

What is the magic of this strange sight? 

Are you in league with the God of Light, 
And shall I find you in Eden's Bower? 

Arthur Grissom. 



SLEET. 

It sleets. 
How it beats 

On the window-pane! 
The clouds hang low in the winter sky, 
The beasts in the barn-yard low and cry, 
The cold wind sighs through the dead, brown 

leaves, 
The ice hangs thick from gable and eaves. 
Oh, it sleets. 
How it beats 

On the window-pane! 

The earth is covered with a coat of mail, 
The travelers flee from the driving hail, 
The biids have flown from bush and tree, 
The flowers are dead upon the lea. 
Oh, it sleets. 
How it beats 

On the window-pane! 

But after awhile will come the sun, 
The sleet will melt and the waters run. 
The clouds disperse, the birds will sing, 
The winds blow warm, the flowers spring; 
No more sleet 
To beat 

On the window-pane. 

23 



24 MISSOURI TERSE. 

Black thoughts hang thick o'er iny mind to-day, 
I have not the strength to drive them away; 
My heart seems gripped by the hand of Pate, 
And almost o'erwhelmed with feelings of hate. 
Oh, it sleets. 
How it beats 
On the window-pane! 

But after awhile will come God's love, 
Borne on the wings of the pure, White Dove, 
Driving the darkness from my mind, 
Changing my hateful thoughts to kind; 
No more sleet 
To beat 

On the window-pane! 

Walter A. McCausland. 



IN THE ORCHARD. 

The cattle wander home from the purple clover- 
fields, 
Where the bees are drunk with honey and 
perfume; 
And my love trips on behind them, my meadow- 
sweet that yields 
Sweeter honey than the clover's purple 
bloom. 

It was here I wooed my love as the Winter 

wooes the Spring, 
In the orchard, when the trees are green and 

white; 
While the birds built nests above us and the 

daisies blossoming 
Filled the air with sweetest fragrance and 

delight. 

It was here I won my love as the glowing sun 
slid down, 
And the red light stole my kisses from her 
cheek ; 
And the apple-blossoms shook with an angry 
glance and frown, 
And the jealous robins vowed I should not 
speak. 

25 



26 MISSOURI VERSE. 

In the ripe October days, when the apples 
change to red, 
And the mellow fragrance floats upon the 
air, 
In the swaying, laughing orchard my love and 
I shall wed, 
With the yellow sunset shining thro' her 
hair. 

The cattle wander home from the purple clover- 
fields, 
Where the bees are drunk with honey and 
perfume; 
And my love trips on behind them, my meadow- 
sweet that yields 
Sweeter honey than the clover's purple 
bloom. 

Lyman Whitney Allen. 



JUNE ROSES. 

I sit with my hands full of roses, 

And fondle their velvety leaves; 
I drink in their beauty and fragrance 

While meru'ry a tender spell weaves. 
1 float on their odor so subtile 

To a J une- time hid in the past, 
And live over again in my seeming 

A dream too enchanting to last. 

There rises from out the soft petals 

A face that is dainty and fair, 
And sweet as the heart of the roses 

That bloom in the summer-tide air — 
While eyes like two purple-blue pansies 

Look straight in the depths of my own, 
And bring back that dead, sweet summer, 

The gladdest, to me, ever known. 

Oh, June, with your garlands of roses, 

Once, only, you brighten each year — 
And youth, with its beautiful visions, 

Lives, too, in your warm, sunny cheer — 
'Tis only a dream that is left me 

To soothe me through toiling and pain, 
And tho' it may fade with the roses, 

'Twill wake with their blooming again. 
Mildred 8. McFaden. 

27 



THE JEFFERSON MONUMENT. 

[On the Campus of the University of Missouri.] 

The granite of his native hills, 

Mother of monumental men, 
Virginia gave, whose page her Plutarch fills 

With undiminished deeds of sword and pen. 

More fitting far than molten bronze, 
Or polished marble carved by art, 

Tbis monument of him who broke the bonds 
That bound in fetters every human heart. 

The column rises in all lands, 
When sinks the soldier to his rest; 

This cenotaph of rustic plainness stands 
To him who gave an empire to the West. 

Not with the blood of thousands slain, 
With children's cries and mothers' tears; 

The statesman's wisdom won this vast domain 
With gain of honest toil through peaceful 
years. 

The highest honor of his State 

And of his country came unsought; 

It was not this, O men, that made him great, 
Of this is nothing on the tablet wrought. 

28 



TEE JEFFERSON MONUMENT. 29 

His pen declared his country free, 

Equal and free his fellow-man, 
Freedom in church and state, the right to be, 

If Nature wills, the first American. 

Tis well the shaft by him devised 

Rests here in Learning's classic shade; 

To be her patron was by him more prized 
Than all the honors that the nation paid. 

Oh, may his spirit liDger near, 

As by old Monticello's slope; 
Inspire Missouri's sons who gather here 

With all the scholar's love, the patriot's hope. 

And He who holds the nation's fate 

Within the hollow of His hand 
Preserve the Union ever strong and great 

And guide the statesmen of our native land. 

Edward A. Allen. 



CHRISTMAS SNOW. 

Ye have come 

From what airy clime, 

Ye flakes of snow, 

Flying below 
With your crystals of rime, 

That flutter and fall, 

Covering earth with a pall 

Of whiteness so rare 

That with it can compare 
Naught in our home? 

Is heaven the place 

Your presence doth grace, 

With gates of pearly white 

And walls with jewels dight; 
Where the streets are paved with gold, 

So clear and so bright 

That no shadow of night 

Can darken the way, 

That is lighter than day, 
Which the angels have trod from of old? 

In troops ye have come, 
Who, who '11 tell the sum 
Of the flakes in the air, 
Of the flakes that lie there 

In heaps that cover the ground? 

so 



CHRISTMAS SNOW. 31 

From the pole in the north, 
The ice-king comes forth; 
To the stillness of death 
He would freeze with his breath 
All life that in field can be found. 

But your coating so fair, 

Like the fur of white bear, 

Covers the feet 

Of the shivering wheat, 
And tucks itself in round and round; 

Till as snug as a bug 

In a warm woolen rug. 

The blades go to sleep 

'Neath the covering deep, 
And rest in their bed safe and sound. 

How graceful, how fair, 

As ye float in the air, 
And whirl in the dance with the breeze. 

In ermine so white 

Ye are fully bedight; 

So feathery fine 

Ye fairly outshine 
The loveliest of brides that one sees. 

Your fairy-like form 

For a grace is a norm; 

So slender and true 

To the rapturous view; 



32 MISSOURI VERSE. 

While the light of your eyes 
The diamond outvies 
As ye flash on the breast of the leas. 

Angels so rare, 

With faces so fair, 
Ye have come on a mission of love. 

Your wings now are bright 

With heaven's own light 
As ye come from your mansions above. 

Heralds, ye fly 

From the throne in the sky 

BriDging to earth 

The news of the birth 
Of Him who is greater than Jove; 

Whose garments of grace, 

For earth's ruined race, 
In Grethsemane's garden were wove. 

How gladly we see 

Such spirits as ye 
In this world of sorrow and sin ; 

'Tis heaven ye bring 

On the plume of your wing; 

So spotless, so pure, 

Ye are harbingers sure 
Of the day when, without and within, 



CHRISTMAS SNOW. 33 

This world shall be clean 
From all that is mean; 
Till purged by the blood 
That on Calvary flowed — 
The earth to heaven is kin. 

J. A. Quarks. 



TWO MISSIONS. 



A. lily and a rosebud close in a garden grew, 
The lily pure and spotless, the rose of red- 
dest hue; 
Vnd neither "born to blush unseen," its mission 
soon must find. 
The rosebud eager, longing, the lily calm, 
resigned. 

The rose upon a virgin breast in dreams of pas- 
sion slept, 
The lily in the hand of Death its silent vigil 
kept. 
The rose awoke to hear the strains of sensuous 
music sweet, 
The lily journeyed with a soul to kneel at 
Mercy's feet. 

Frank S. Hastings. 



A LYKIC OF THE HAZEL-NUT PATCH. 

A pleasant sort of pastime, when the Autumn 
comes around, 

Is to roam the bills and hollows where the 
hazel-nuts abound. 

The blossom-time is over and the wren has 
taken wing, 

And the jay, alone remaining, has the hardi- 
hood to sing. 

No other sound of cheerfulness is audible 
about — 

The Autumn comes in triumph, with her som- 
bre banners out; 

She crops the mighty forest with a melancholy 
swipe, 

And everything is gloomy, when the hazel-nuts 
are ripe; 

Yet merrily and cheerily, with baskets we may 
wend 

Our way into the woodland, where the hazel 
bushes bend. 

My blessing on the hazel bush that never grew 

so high 
As to waste its screen of leafage, like the oak 

tree, on the sky. 



31 



A LYRIC OF THE HAZEL-NUT PATCH. 35 

Nor yet as dwarfed and stunted as the vine 

against the earth, 
Whose growth of leafy thickness forms a veil 

of little worth; 
The hazel, like a conscious bush, by intuition 

grew 
The proper height and thickness to seclude us 

from the view; 
As if it felt when Autumn came, with all her 

locks aflow, 
Every maiden would be coming with a basket 

and a beau; 
That merrily and cheerily, in couples they 

would wend 
Their way into the woodland, where the hazel 

bushes bend. 

When the hull is sere and tawny, and the nut is 
dry and brown, 

And beneath its gracious burden every twig is 
laden down, 

And yields upon the slightest touch its treas- 
ures by the batch, 

We feel as we were welcome to the finest in the 
patch. 

The rabbit scampers from our path, his flying 
bounds are heard; 

A covey of young partridges salutes the mother 
bird; 



36 MISSOURI VERSE. 

She answers from a neighboring shrub, but 

watch her as we may, 
Unwitnessed of our alien eyes, she '11 slip the 

brood away; 
And merrily and cheerily, we '11 hear her notes 

ascend 
Far off, amid the woodland, where the hazel 

bushes bend. 

And when at eTe, the rising moon emits a mel- 
low glow, 

And our hazel-nuts are gathered, and it 's time 
for us to go; 

And the cooling dews are falling ;and the clank- 
ing bells we hear 

Of the cattle, winding homeward, thro' the 
gloaming still and clear — 

We rest ourselves a little and we gather up our 
load, 

And with a sense of gratitude, we journey on 
the road, 

And think of all the winter nights, the blazing 
fire about, 

When we '11 crack the nuts upon the hearth and 
pluck the kernels out. 

Thus merrily and cheerily, contentedly we 
wend 

Our way from out the woodland, where the 
hazel bushes bend. 

R. E. Lee Gibson. 



WILD IRIS. 

The iris in the Southland opens early, 

Before the mocking-bird is well awake; 
The leafless alders hang their tassels merely, 
And golden spice-blooms in the March winds 

shake, — 
The sweet azalea reddens all the brake, 
And marsh-magnolia buds grow round and 
pearly; 
Then the blue iris blossoms by the lake. 

O beautiful blue iris, best and dearest, 

Save the wild ivy, of all vernal bloom! 
Not winter's chill nor wild spring-rain thou 
fearest, 
Nor rush of swollen torrents, white with 

foam, — 
For, by the brooklet is thy chosen home, 
And all the lowlands flush when thou 
appearest 
With heart of gold beneath an azure plume. 

Who, that has seen the iris, brightly glowing 
With colors richer than the blue-bird's wing, 

But felt his heart with rapture overflowing, 
And blessed the Maker of so fair a thing, — 



3S MISSOURI VERSE. 

For, who loves beauty roust love beauty's 
King, 
Almighty Monarch, in His grace bestowing 
Such glory on a fleeting flower of spring. 

Mary Bryant. 



THE LILY AND THE PANSY. 

A lily stood in the quiet lake 

And nodded in the breeze; 
The breeze that kissed the water queen- 

The queen of little seas — 

Moved on and touched the land 

And told the flora there, 
Of fragrance from, a little bud 

To fill the desert air. 

"Ah!" said a Pansy on the land, 

"If all you say is true 
We need not fear that we '11 be drown'd 

By floods of rain or dew — 

If lilies grow in the waters there, 

We, too, could do it here." 
The Breeze then whispered soft and low, 

"Each being in his sphere." 

W. D. Sylvester. 



CHRISTMAS TREES. IN HEAVEN. 

'Twas just two weeks since Christmas 

When little Will, aged seven, 
With anxious face asked of me, 

"Are there Christmas trees in Heaven?" 
Just two short months before, the lad 

Had lost his little friend, 
A neighbor's child with whom he played 

From morning till day's end. 

I answered him, "Yes, darling, 

Far grander than was ours; 
And the things to make Tom happy 

Fall from the tree in showers." 
But I could not help but ponder; 

His words had left a leaven, 
And I found myself half wondering, 

Are there Christmas trees in Heaven? 

I bethought me of that passage 

Where the Spirit speaks to John 
In the vision of the seven stars; 

Thus doth the passage run: 
"To him that overcometh 

I will give to him supplies 
From the tree of life that standeth 

In the midst of Paradise." 

39 



40 MISSOURI TERSE. 

The fruit that shall be given 

In peace and mercy mild, 
Bestowed by Him who gave all things, 

The Father and Christ-child. 
Oh, how glorious is the prospect 

That to mortals poor is given, 
'"hat some time we may gather round 

The Christmas tree in Heaven! 

John Meyers Paxson. 



EUGENE FIELD. 



It shall be long remembered, the pleasure he 
bestowed, 

The maker of the Lullaby, the builder of the 
Ode; 

The painter of our purest joys, our singer un- 
defined, 

The tender imitator of the prattle of a child. 

Nor shall it be forgotten: the garlands of his 
rhyme 

Are hung in fadeless folds about the subtile 
scythe of Time; 

His graceful verse, its flowing ease, bear wit- 
ness of the art 

Wherewith our perfect poet plumbed the lyric 
of his heart. 

R. E. Lee Gibson. 



THE HIEROGLYPHICS OF GOD. 

"They are the hieroglyphics of God." — Archbishop Trench. 

Why all of this toiling in nature, 

This study of flowers and rocks? 
"What profit can come to the watcher 

By night of the heavenly flocks? 
Why gather the life of the ocean, 

The life of the land and the air? 
Why follow the wind and the lightning 

In search of their mystical lair? 

Most gladly I answer your questions, 

O delver in classic lore, 
W r hose joy is the study of language 

Brought out of oblivion's store. 
You linger o'er human inscriptions 

Exhumed from the crypt and the clod, 
We study the language of nature — 

The hieroglyphics of God. 

These beautiful flowers that blossom 

And grow without limit or dearth, 
And after the winter come teemiug 

From hidden recesses of earth, 
Bring message to us of the rising 

Of long-sleeping men from the sod; 
The message is written in flowers — 

The hieroglyphics of God. 



42 MISSOURI TERSE. 

The globe is a hoary old volume 

Whose leaves are the layers of stone, 
And on them in letters of fossil 

The tale of the ages is strewn; 
To read it we gather the fossils 

And tracks where the Saurians trod, 
' And bring them in patience together — 

The hieroglyphics of God. 

Above us the scroll of the heavens 

For patient translation is spread. 
And mighty in bright constellations 

Can the tale of the kosmos be read; 
By scanning the skies thro' the centuries 

While other men slumbering nod, 
The watchers unravel their meaning — 

Those hieroglyphics of God. 

We gather the life of the ocean, 

The life of the land and the air, 
And patiently search for the kinship 

That each to his neighbor does bear; 
No matter how strangely constructed — 

No matter how common, how odd — 
These creatures are chapters of record 

In hieroglyphics of God. 



THE HIEROGLYPHICS OF GOD. 43 

The wind and the lightning we study 

Tho' mystery their origin shroud, 
The one is of kin to the sunshine — 

The other is born of the cloud; 
They each may be caged for a moment 

And energize bellows or rod, 
But both are the symbols of spirit 

And hieroglyphics of Grod. 

Your puzzles were gendered by mortals- 

Your problems invented by men 
Who tarried awhile in the earth! if e, 

Then vanished forever again. 
But ours is an Author undying 

Whose pen is a magical rod; 
Forever His scroll of the heavens is spread, 
Forever His flowery page to be read, 
Forever His fossils discourse of the dead — 

All hieroglyphics of God. 

T. Berry Smith. 



THE LONG AGO. 

I ? in thinking to-night of the long, long ago 

And a pair of blue eyes that were bright, 
And a form that was timid and shrinking and 
lithe, 

And a hand that was pretty and white. 
We sat on the banks of the swift-running 
stream. 

In the heat of the summer noon's glow, 
And paddled our feet in the water and played, 

In the sweet, in the blest long ago. 

We talked of the time when, as woman and 
man, 
We would launch our small boat on the 
stream, 
And float in repose its smooth current along, 

And life would then be like a dream; 
When we 'd gather the flowers from its grass- 
covered banks, 
And dance to its ripple and flow; 
But that was a time when we were both 
young — 
In the beautiful, sweet long ago. 

The mocking-bird came and sang a sweet song, 
And gladdened our hearts with his tune, 



ii 



THE LONG AGO. 45 

And we lingered and played on the banks of 
the stream, 
Till we saw the red crest of the moon 
Through the willow tops green that bent o'er 
the stream, 
And mingled their branches below, 
And dipped in the clear and swift-running 
brook, 
In the sacred, the sweet long ago. 

We lingered and played till the sun chased the 
shade, 
And the shadows grew narrow and long, 
And the whippoorwill came to the banks of the 
stream 
And sang us his sad, plaintive song. 
We lingered and played in the gathering shade, 
'Neath the willow boughs bending down low, 
And we tripped along home in the fast-coming 
gloom, 
In the beautiful, blest long ago. 

I have floated, dear Ettie, far, far down the 
stream, 
Where the current is bold, rough and strong, 
"But I gather no flowers from its steep, rugged 
banks, 
And I miss the sweet mocking-bird's song; 



46 MISSOURI TERSE. 

My sky is o'ercast with great shadows of doubt, 
As I view the swift current below, 

And my heart will turn back to the stream 
where we played 
In the sweet, in the blest long ago. 

I sigh for the sacred and sweet trust we gave, 
Where the willow boughs bent o'er the 
stream, 
And the mocking-bird sang, and the sun chased 
the shade, 
Although like a child I may seem. 
I long to return to the dear, blessed spot, 

And catch the departing sun's glow, 
And gather the flowers on the banks of the 
stream, 
As we did in the long, long ago. 

Willis P. King. 



THE LITTLE PEACH. 

[From A Little Bo ik of Western Ver^e, copyrighted, 1889, by Eu- 
gene Field, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons ] 

A little peach in the orchard grew, 
A little peach of emerald hue; 
Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, 
It grew. 

One day, passing that orchard through, 
That little peach dawned on the view 
Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue, 
Them two. 

Up at that peach a club they threw, 
Down from the stem on which it grew 
Fell that peach of emerald hue. 
Hon Diea! 

John took a bite and Sue a chew, 
And then the trouble began to brew, 
Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue. 
Too true! 

Under the turf where the daisies grew 
Tbey planted John and his sister Sue, 
And their little souls to the angels flew. 
Boo hoo! 



48 MISSOURI TERSE. 

What of that peach of the emerald hue, 
Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew? 
Ah, well! its mission on earth is through. 
Adieu! 

Eugene Field. 



MOTHER'S PICTURE. 

A little case, the dust now covers; 

A worn-out clasp, a broken hinge. 

Some velvet of a faded tinge — 
While memory round it sweetly hovers. 

Within there is a gentle face — 
The soft brown eyes, the glossy hair, 
The peaceful brow, serene and fair, 

Are all within the old-time case. 

With sweet simplicity so rare, 
A soul so pure, a heart so gay, 
The picture shows in girlhood's day 

Our mother's face so young and fair. 
Susan Alexander. 



THE SUNFLOWER. 

Did he hold your face between his palms 
And whisper, "Sweet, I love you"? 

Was the wind of summer a storm of balms 
With the bright sky blue above you? 

Did you tremble there in the morning air 

Like the aspen, tall and slender, 
When he kissed you softly and called you fair 

With passionate lips and tender? 

My yellow sunflower, well I know 
How you plighted faith, believe me! 

Your careless face in the summer glow 
Does not in the least deceive me. 

Through shine and shadow, the livelong day, 

Your face is turned to your lover, 
And I know — I know what your heart would 
say, 

Though your lips will not discover. 

Since your love came over the hill, and shone 

On you, in your golden glory, 
How many sunflowers, newly blown, 

Has he told the same sweet story? 



49 



50 MISSOURI VERSE. 

You will not answer; you know full well, 
As you hold none else above him, 

That whatsoever your love may tell 
You trust — because you love him. 

O, false and fickle! he loves them all, 
And he kisses each with passion, 

Yet every sunflower, fair and tall, 
Believes in the selfsame fashion. 

Ah, well! you love him, and so I say 

Be glad, ere you discover, 
Poor golden bloom, as you will, some day, 

That yours is a faithless lover! 

Anne Tozier. 



EVERY LITTLE HELPS. 

A little ray of sunshine 

Crept thro' a lattice closed, 
And stopped upon a cushion 

Whereon a babe reposed. 
The child awoke and saw it, 

Then laughed in happy mood; 
And so a ray of sunshine 

Accomplished something good. 

T. Berry Smith. 



EVENING MISTS. 

Evening mists roll up the river, 

Gloom-touched clouds go drifting by, 
Golden light-lines thread the wavelets, 

Spun from out a flame-wrapped sky. 
Dreams of sunrise tip the border 

As the yielding shadows flow; 
Resurrection, repetition, 

Whispered from the dying glow. 

Like the hope of great hereafters 

Proving on the pallid face; 
Like that hope resplendent silvering 

Through the mists of growing grace. 
Grander grows the swell of silence 

Surging down the compact gloom; 
Fuller yet the tide of memory 

Lapping at a dream-filled tomb. 

Softly through the world of shadow 

Sounds the cry of thrush or merle; 
Softly over tree and river 

Drifts of massing ether swirl. 
But the wayward throb of longing 

Beats beyond the realm of sight; 
In the mist we lose the earth-world 

While the world of dream grows bright, 



52 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Hark the songs that float from heaven 

'Cross the evening's great red seal! 
Hark the autumn memories thronging 

In the fading of the real! 
Nature mist-wreathed is a symbol 

Of the tenser life within 
Through whose glooms we catch the mystic 

Making o'er the hushing din. 

Rose E. Young. 



THE LIGHTNING. 



"O Gaffer," the grandchild sweetly said, 
As back she tossed her curly head, 
"I know what makes the clouds look red. 

"The angels have their homes inside 
And light their lamps at eventide, 
As we do here where we abide; 

"And when an angel opes his door, 
The lamplight flashes out before 
And makes the clouds look red all o'er." 

T. Berry Smith. 



THE DISH-WASHER. 

[Written when twelve years old.] 

With a table of dishes before her, 
And a pan of hot water and soap, 

With her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, 
Who can with the dish-washer cope? 

Such is the queen of the dish-pan, 
And the tea-kettle sings by her side, 

And the dishes rattle and clatter 

As they are placed in the pan to be dried. 

First come the goblets and glassware 
For their bath in the hot soap-suds: 

Then come the cups and the saucers 
For a dash in the cleansing floods. 

Last of all come the pots and the pans, 
And the dish-washer ceases to sing, 

And she clutches a knife very fiercely 
And scrapes till the old kitchen rings. 

At last the dishes are done, 

And the song returns to her lips; 

And the queen of the dish-pan retires 
With several unmaidenly skips. 

Jessie Andis. 

53 



THE STORM-CLOUD AND THE BOW. 

I stood in the valley at even, 

And gazed on the dark storm-cloud; 
As swiftly it rose o'er the mountain, 

With mutterings deep and loud. 
Ere long it hung over the valley, 

And obscured the glowing skies, 
While continual flames of lightning 

Dazzled and blinded mine eyes. 
The storm burst, but soon its fury 

Was spent and 'twas over, when, lo! 
I raised mine eyes to the mountain, 

And beheld the glittering bow. 

While gazing with awe on its spleudor, 

To me came a beautiful thought: 
That the storm just o'er was an emblem 

Of sorrow our life is fraught, 
That often bursts darkly upon us 

When our skies appear fair and bright; 
The glittering bow a symbol 

Of peace dawning after Care's night. 
Each life has its blessings and pleasures, 

And each has its load of care, 
And often the burdens laid on us 

Seem greater than we can bear. 



54 



THE STORM-CLOUD AND THE BOW. 55 

But in time they will all fall from us, 

If peace we will seek in prayer, 
And our souls will be the purer, 

As after the storm the air. 
Through all the ages forever, 

As long as the storm-cloud blows; 
As long as Satan is loosened, 

And prowling amongst us goes; 
May the bow (unto men) resplendent, 

On the face of the cloud appear; 
May its shadow o'er all fall gently, 

And hearts that are sorrowing cheer. 

Clarence E. Arbuckle. 



THE THREE SISTERS. 

Life, Love, and Death are sisters three, 
That captive held me for a space: 

Life scorned my hopes; Love mocked at me; 
Death only wears a smiling face. 

Minnie Mclntyre. 



TRIFLES. 

Little things are trifles, 
And yet no trifle 's small — 

Little fragments stony 
Make up this earthly ball. 

Little crystal snow-flakes 
Make up the mighty drift, 

Little drops of water 
Compose the river swift. 

Little coral-builders 

Erect the ocean isle, 
Little deeds of kindness 

Make saddened faces smile. 

Night is made the brighter 

By light of little star, 
Little deeds and actions 

Determine what we are. 

Do no act of evil, 

Though but a little thing; 
Do life's little duties, 

For happiness they bring. 

T. Berry Smith. 



56 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

They say there 's a castle far over the sea 

In a forest so dim and old, 
That the shadows of night overreach the day, 
And light into darkness goes fleeing away — 

A darkness like chaos of old. 

And its halls have been haunted a thousand 
years, 
Is the story that 's oft been told, 
And sighing is heard in the boughs of the trees 
Like moaning of waves on some far distant 
seas — 
As they break on the sands so cold. 

And the old folks say, at the midnight hour, 
When the winds and the waves are still, 
That sepulchered voices are heard to speak 
And the casements rattle and the old stairs 
creak, 
And the shutters go round at will. 

And the doors go open and the doors go shut 

And strange lights are seen in the hall, 
While sighing and wailing are heard in the 

gloom 
As phantom steps creep through the old oaken 
room 
And myst'ry is over all. 

57 



58 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Oh, a haunted castle is the human heart, 
Like the one that stands by the sea, 

Where our dead oome back from that far-away 
shore 

To wander again as they wandered of yore 
When walking with you and with me. 

And footsteps are heard at the dead of the 
night, 
That ghostliest hour of all, 
And sometimes there comes a soft rustle of 

wing, 
While fragments of song that we once heard 
them sing 
Go echoing through mem'ry's hall. 

And the pale-faced forms that we have laid 
away 
Beneath the flowers and the dew 
Will oftentimes come in a shadowy train 
To roam through the heart's haunted halls 
again — 
Come to me, and to you and you. 
And if haunted the castle that stands by the 

sea, 
Miue is haunted enough for me. 

F. Burdette Wilson. 



TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

' The nightingale, when deprived of its mate, withdraws into some 
lone nook of the forest and gradually pines away and dies." — Natural 
History. 

Sweet bird of the forest, 

Thine heart-thrilling song 
Is born of deep sorrow, 

Yet speaks not of wrong. 

Thy lone heart is siDging 

Beyond thy control, 
And barters for music 

Thy grief-laden soul. 

Yes, deep in the forest, 

Withdrawn from the day, 
Sweet bird, thou art singing 

Thy lone heart away. 

But long ere the morrow 
Thy spirit shall be blessed, 

Thy heart will cease singing, 
Thy soul be at rest. 

William G. Barnard. 



59 



ONLY. 

Only a little casket 

With linings of dainty blue — 
Only the flash of a diamond 

Prismatic in its hue. 
Only a snap of the claspings, 

Only the splash of a tear, 
Only a sigh — a still heart-cry — 

For broken dreams so dear. 

Only a lover's quarrel 

With all the bitter pain — 
Only a broken engagement 

Eending two lives in twain — 
Only a sad remembrance 

Of cruel words that sting — 
Only the woe fond hearts oft know, 

For love is a tyrant king. 

Only a heart grown humble, 

A spirit proud grown meek — 
Only an intense longing 

For pardon — men too are weak. 
Only a soft "forgive me" 

Falls sweet on listening ears, 
A tender thrill — a sweet "I will" — 

And eyes grow dim with tears. 

60 



ONLY. 61 

Only a glad renewing 

Of plighted vows again — 
Only two hearts o'erflowing 

With joy akin to pain. 
Only the flash of a diamond 

On dimpled hand so white, 
And not a sigh — nor faint heart-cry — 

Love reigns supreme to-night! 

Mildred S>. HcFaden. 



AIR CASTLES. 



Why should we deem it idle, 
Or a child's play or a snare, 

For men to build their castles 
In the air? 

Beside them, who has buildings? 

And God builds them, oh, so fair! 
For this world is but a castle 

Built in air; 

The sun and stars a city 
Floating on the ether rare; 

And heaven a palace-castle 
In the air. 

C. L. Phifer. 



THE BEREAVED. 

I turn mine inward gaze along that sea, 

Where memory's troubled waves are ever 
flowing, — 
Where dismal wrecks of hopes and joys I see, 

Still floating near, yet ever from me going; 
And still above that murmuring sea of yore, 
And all the ashy fruit it casts ashore, 
I think I see my Darling. 

Now, as I sit, deep in the dreary night, 
And feel dark phantom forms around me 
closing, 
Or trace out images of past delight 

Amid the embers on my lone hearth dozing, 
I start to find myself alone, for there, — 
Beside me, — where now stands a vacant chair, 
I 'd thought to see my Darling. 

I cast my eyes out on the midnight sky 

And in each orb, so dreamily there twinkling, 
Methinks I see, down glancing from on high, 
A seraph's gaze; and mid that vast be- 
sprinkling 
Of high celestial radiance, — all night long, — 
I search and search, throughout the angel 
throng, 

In hopes to see my Darling. 

62 



TEE BEREAVED. 63 

I hear a voice come from that seraph band, — 
A sad, sweet anthem through that high host 
pealing, — 
I hear a whisper from the spirit land, 
A thrilling hope to my sad soul revealing; — 
A hope which tells me that when death shall 

come 
To my embrace, above yon starlit dome, 
Once more I '11 see my Darling. 

John Jay Bailey. 



TO A REDHEAD. 



The lass I love has bonny auburn hair; 
Her amber curls like golden sunbeams glare, 
Or like the cloven tongues of lambent flame 
That wreathe the temples of some child of 

Fame. 
Above her head a ctown of golden light, 
Like Judah's altar, shimmers dav and night, 
And, like the vestal lamp of ancient Rome, 
Will blaze forever in some happy home; 
Or, like the lofty cliff, as Goldsmith told, 
That lifts above the clouds its crown of gold, 
Though storms and tempests round her bosom 

spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on her head. 

William M. Paxton. 



POPPING CORN. 

In the fire-place's ruddy light, 
Phyllis sat with rne, one night, 

Popping corn; 
Merrily the white-coals danced, 
While I oft at Phyllis glanced, 
Sitting there like one entranced. 

Popping corn. 

Shadows deep above us hung, 
To and fro her hand she swung, 

Popping corn; 
And the elf-like dance kept pace 
With my heart-beats, as her face 
Shone with new and added grace, 

Popping corn. 

Till, beneath the magic spell 
Of the night, I told her— well, 

Popping corn 
Is a pastime full of guile, 
And the "popping" — ah, you smile! 
But take care, I pray you, while 

Popping corn! 

Will H. Cline. 



64 



TO RILEY. 

I hev shet yer book, Jim Riley, 

An' with it shet my eyes 
Jess ter swim a blessed minnit 

la the summer of yer skies. 
I kin feel the breath of June-time 

A-playin' on my face, 
That takes me back in mem'ry 

To my mother's dear ole place. 

When you talk about the ole times 

It 's as sweet as kingdom come, 
An' I 'm glad you 've written, Riley, 

On "Poems Here at Home." 
I 've felt like doin' it myself, 

But I couldn't find the time, 
An' somehow, when I hed the thoughts 

I couldn't make 'em rhyme. 

I kin hear the pewee chirpin' 

Ez he bobs upon the limb, 
An' it all comes back so nacheral 

Thet I thank you fer it, Jim; 
You hev heerd the children singin' 

In honeysuckle-time, 
An' hev tuk their voices' music 

An' made it inter rhyme. 

05 



66 MISSOURI VERSE. 

You hev touzeled in the clover 

An' laughed out loud in glee 
At the funny story told it 

By the courtin' bumbly-bee; 
You hev heerd the trees a-whisperin', 

An' hev put it in-yer book, 
An' you know the purty meanin' 

Of the ripple of the brook. 

So I 've shet yer book, Jim Riley, 

An' with it shet my eyes 
An' dream I am a-swimmin' 

In yer summer's meller skies. 
Here 's lookin' at ye, Riley, 

An' a-hopin' you will be 
A-singin' up in heaven 

When I reach eternity. 

William R. Hereford. 



THE CHARIOTEER. 

Through the wan dark, before the day, 
I hear his mist-white chariot roll, 

As tenderly he bears away 

A tired, tremulous human soul. 

Mine eyes have seen him; and I know 
By this clear vision, heaven sent, 

Not as a warrior, not as a foe 
Comes Death, but with a friend's intent. 

And when, though life be young and fair, 
His steed shnjl stop beside my gate, 

I will make baste to meet him there, 
And softly whisper, "Tbou art late." 

I '11 f Jd his robe about me then, 
And nestle down, and smiling say, 

iC l hoped that thou hadst halted when 
I saw thee journeying, yesterday." 

Anne Tozier. 



67 



AUTUMN RAIN. 

O, the dark and dismal, dripping 

Autumn rain! 
I am weary of the dreary, 
Ceaseless, moaning, droning, dripping 

Of the rain! 

I have spent the day in dipping 

Into books, — 
Scanning o'er a poem, story, 
In a desultory dipping 

In my books. 

I have revelled in the glories 

Of the Past; 
And have tasted of the wasted, 
Withered, olden, golden glories 

Of the Past. 

But the dark and dismal, dripping 

Autumn rain! 
I am weary of the dreary, 
Ceaseless, moaning, droning, dripping 

Of the rain! 



68 



AUTUMN RAIN. 

Will the cloud-eclipsed sun 

Ne'er shine again? 
Will it ever — will it never 
Kiss this dismal, sin-sick world 

And smile again? 

Lo, behold! the clouds are lifting 

Even now! 
Earth grows brighter, heaven lighter, 
For the shifting clouds are lifting 

Even now! 

Yes, complaining heart, the sun 

Will shine again! 
All thy sorrow ere to-morrow 
Will have lifted and the sun 

Will smile again. 

James F. Gore. 



BABY ASLEEP. 

Baby is slumbering under the trees, 
Kocked in the hammock, fanned by the breeze; 
Stray bits of sunshine playfully seek 
Sweetest of kisses on baby's soft cheek. 

Baby is dreaming and mamma bends low, 
Counting the dimples as smiles come and go; 
Angels are hovering, gilding her dreams, 
Baby has played with them — see how she 
beams. 

Baby is sleeping while rocked to and fro, 
Mamma is singing with voice tempered low; 
Baby and mamma and angels and sleep 
Under the shade-tree sweet vigils keep. 

Frank 8. Hastings. 



70 



BACK OF ALL. 

"While we look not at the things that are seen, but at the things 
which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but 
the things which are not seen are eternal." — Si. Paul, II. Cor. iv. 18. 

Back of the shadow, the substance; 

Back of the semblance, the truth; 
Back of all matter, the spirit 

Lives in perennial youth. 

Back of the known is the unknown; 

Back of the seen, the unseen; 
Back of the infinite ages, 

Infinite ages have been. 

Back of each poem's a poem; 

Back of each song is a song; 
Back of the richest emotions, 

Richer emotions throng. 

Back of each deep aspiration, 
Back of all ravishing dreams, 

Back of the soul's secret thought, 
Somewhere, the source of all teems. 

Back of the truth is more truth, 

Back of all truth is God; 
Back to that source of all being 

Souls through the ages have trod. 



72 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Back of each point and each atom, 
Back of the infinite sphere, 

Back of the infinite infinite, 
Infinite energy 's there. 

God is that infinite energy, 

Back of and in and through all — 

Up from that source rise all beings, 
Wave like, they rise and they fall. 
M . L. Hoffman. 



A TRAGEDY. 



A worn old horse, a cable-slot by many widths 
too wide, 

A humble hoof that found itself wedged pain- 
fully inside. 

A writhing form; an awkward job; a foot be- 
yond repair; 

A pistol-shot; the peace of death; an empty 
wagon there. 

Some poor man's bread and butter gone. Of 
small things 'tis the least, 

Only man's inhumanity to man and poor dumb 
beast. 

Minnie Mclntyre. 



THE END OF THE SEASON. 

Ah! dress-suit, you aud I have spent 

A most delightful summer season; 
The two weeks at the seashore went 

Without a sign from you of treason. 
If you had let the secret slip, 

I think I should have gone demented; 
I might as well have packed my grip 

If you had told that you were rented. 

I fancy that we looked quite swell 

That night we led in the cotillion; 
From our appearance none could tell 

We were not worth at least a million. 
We loved a dozen charming girls — 

We really were beyond resistance — 
And one, whose eyes and wayward curls 

Still linger with a strange persistence. 

But what 's the use to sigh in vain? 

Instead we both should be contented- 
ly peddling products of my brain, 

While you continue to be rented. 
And so I '11 send you back to-night, 

With some regret, to Jacob Hirsch's; 
And then begin again to write — 

Hard fate! society's light verses. 

William R. Hereford. 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

Gaining by sinuous path the frowning height, 
Thro' wildwoods fragrant with the breath of 
May, 

I see below me in the morning light 
The landscape stretch away. 

My step along the echoing bowlders rings; 

Some lone bird flutters from its dim retreat; 
Some black bats scatter, with bewildered 
wings, 

At my approaching feet. 

Sharp bits of chiseled flint-rock strew the 
ground, 
Old arrow-heads — I hardly know their 
name — 
No more to whistle at the bow's rebound, 
True to the archer's aim. 

From ferny fissures springing in the breeze, 
Wild roses rustle with their wealth of bloom, 

Shedding from rifled blossoms, prized by bees, 
Wafts of their faint perfume. 



74 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 7& 

Along the slant a swimming vapor furls, 
Clings like a thin cloud in the silvery sky, 

Till lightly shaken into airy curls, 
A zephyr sweeps it by. 

Here, when the solemn midnight waves her 
wand, 
Two Indian shades appear, with flowing 
locks — 
A maiden and her lover, hand in hand, 
Glide o'er the moonlit rocks; 

Glide up the rugged steep, from cleft to cleft, 
Their light feet glimpsing under streaming 
stoles, 
And where they step, the gemmeous footprints 
left 
Glow, like ignescent coals! 

The hawk forsakes its nest with clamorous 
flight; 
Fleet hares go springing down the winding 
way; 
A copperhead uncoils in sheer affright, 
And slips beneath a spray. 



76 MISSOURI VERSE. 

The aged and garrulous pioneer who dwells 
Where yon blue wreaths of towering smoke 
arise, 

To the sweet children of his household tells 
The legend in this wise: 

In days before the white intruder came, 
A Shawnee girl, the floweret of her tribe, 

Felt the strange wine of love suffuse her frame 
And her whole soul imbibe. 

But dark the deadly draught was mixed with 
woe! 
Her heart from its belov'd was sundered 
wide, 
And, all the hope she cherished thus laid low, 
She droop'd at length and died; 

Just as the flow'rets in their beauty fade — 
The fresh young blue-bell by the jaunty rill, 

And the meek violet in the woodland shade, 
The aster on the hill ! 

They made beneath this bluff her narrow grave, 
Where, rippling by the rocks, the brooklet 
sings, 

And the cool ferns and water-lilies wave, 
And the wild birds wet their wings. 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 77 

Then, ere the forest doff'd its green array, 
He who convoked her sad, untimely fate, 
Threw, in a distant war, his life away — 
The wrong to expiate. 

The new moon framed on high its radiant arch, 
When on rude bier, draped w-th a panther's 
hide, 
His mangled corse was borne with solemn 
march 
And buried by her side. 

Tho' many a season has advanced since then, 
AdcI many a moon has waxed and waned 
away, 

And in their stead a mightier race of men 
Holds undisputed sway, 

From happy hunting-grounds, thro' which they 
range, 
They still return at noiseless dead of night, 
The sweets of ardent pledges to exchange 
On this eternal height! 

R. E. Lee Gibson. 



THIS WOULD I DO. 

If I were a rose, 

This would I do: 
I would lie upon the white neck of her I love, 
And let my life go out upon the fragrance 
Of her breath. 

If I were a star, 

This would I do: 
I would look deep down into her eyes, 
Into the eyes I love, and learn there 
How to shine. 

If I were a truth strong as the Eternal One, 

This would I do: 
I would live in her heart, in the heart 
I know so well, and 

Be at home. 

If 1 were a sin, 

This would I do: 
I would fly far away, and tho' her soft hand 
In pity were stretched out, I would not stay, 
but fly, 

And leave her pure! 
Constance Faunt Le Roy Runcie. 



78 



ANOTHER BIRTHDAY. 

The sun is bright and warm to-day, 

And all the world is fair, 
And Nature's intense, yearning breath 

Is tingling on the air. 
But a sad, sad thought has come to me, 

Making my heart grow cold; 
For though the world is fresh and fair, 

I am growing old. 

I had not thought of it before, 

Life seemed so true and bright, 
I thought myself a child at play 

And none with heart more light. 
But the years have slipped me by, I see, 

Time's hurrying would not hold; 
And so, — no use to hide the truth, — 

I am growing old. 

A few more years, — a few more years, 

My past will lie behind; 
Sweet in the shroud of purest hopes, 

Dear to my inmost mind. 
I think 'twill haunt my after life, 

That spirit young and bold, 
Taking me back to the Long Ago, 

Ere I was growing old. 



80 MISSOURI VERSE. 

And still the sun is bright and warm, 

And still the world is fair. 
Why should the breath of passing years 

Breathe me a sigh of care? 
A thought comes stealing to my heart, 

My sadder thoughts to leaven: 
The older I grow to this old world, 

The younger I grow to heaven. 

J. Breckenridge Ellis. 



RESURRECTION. 



The butterfly bathes in the pulsing light, 
And its life is as one with the living day, 

While the wingless worm in the gloom of the 
night 
Spins the web for its shroud of gray. 

When the soul of the world breaks forth in 
bloom, 
And the butterfly feeds on the scent of the 
rose, 
When her life is a dream of light and perfume, 
Can the butterfly know what the caterpillar 
knows? 

William Vincent Byars. 



THE COMING OF HIS FEET. 

In the crimson of the morning, in the whiteness 
of the noon, 
In the amber glory of the day's retreat, 
In the midnight, robed in darkness, or the 
gleaming of the moon, 
I listen for the coming of his feet. 

I have heard his weary footsteps by the Gal- 
ilean sea, 
On the temple's marble pavement, on the 
street, 
Worn with weight of sorrow, faltering up the 
slopes of Calvary, 
The sorrow of the coming of his feet. 

Down the minster-aisles of splendor, from be- 
twixt the cherubim, 
Through the wondering throng, with motion 
strong and fleet, 
Sounds his victor tread, approaching with a 
music far and dim — 
The music of the coming of his feet. 



81 



82 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Comes he sandaled not with silver, girdled not 
with woven gold, 
Weighted not with shimmering gems and 
odors sweet; 
But white-winged and shod with glory in the 
Tabor-light of old — 
The glory of the coming of his feet. 

He is coming, O my spirit! with his everlasting 
peace, 
With his blessedness immortal and complete. 
He is coming, O my spirit! and his coming 
brings release. 
I listen for the coming of his feet. 

Lyman Whitney Allen. 



SPIRIT DREAMS. 

My spirit sits dreaming forever 
The sorrowful dreams of old, 
The passionate dreams of old, 

Yes, wildly it dreams of the river, 
The river I loved of old, 

The sorrowful, dim, haunted river, the river I 
worshiped of old; 

Yes, dreams my soul by this river, 
This river which lies in the South, 
This death-shadowed stream of the South, 

Where passionate star-beams quiver 
To torture my soul for its troth; 
And spirits come mocking my sorrow, yes, 
mocking my death-broken troth. 

Yes, o'er a lone tomb by this river, 
This river I loved of old, 
So weird since days of old, 

My spirit sits weeping forever 
And dreaming sad dreams of old, 
Sad dreams of a beautiful maiden who faded 
and died of old. 



84 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Away from this sorrowful river 
My spirit shall never more go, 
No peri can tempt it to go, 

But dreaming it sits there forever 
And sighs o'er the waters that flow, 
Yes, mingles its moans with the river, the soul- 
haunted stream, in its flow. 

William C. Barnard. 



NOVEMBER AND JUNE. 

I know the deep soul of the river 

When the clouds steal its laughter away; 
When its waters glide darkling and shiver 

For sorrow of winter gray. 
When they whisper farewell to the sun-time; 

When they sob in their low monotone, 
I have caught the lilt of their sad rhyme; 

Its meaning and message I 've known. 

I know the glad heart of the river; 

Its secret is soul of my soul ; 
Its whispers I catch as they quiver; 

When its bright waters cumberless roll; 
When they roll and dance in the sunshine; 

When they leap and laugh in their flow; 
When they spring to quaff of the day-wine; 

All the joy of the draught I know! 

William Vincent Byars. 



OUR COUNTRY. 

The stream, that from the northern hill 

Into the valley brightly pours, 
May ripple on and on until 

It reaches flow'ry southern shores. 
The same wild birds that sweetly sing 

Mid northern scenes in summer-time, 
When winter comes, their way will wing 

To some far-distant southern clime. 

The same great sea, whose voice awakes 

The echoes of New England's strand, 
Rolls on afar until it breaks 

On Carolina's beach of sand. 
The breeze that o'er the frozen peak 

Of northern land, at morning, roves, 
At eve, may kiss the maiden's cheek, 

Who wanders thro' the orange groves. 

Alike the mournful willows weep 

Their dewy tears above the grave, 
Where northern hero lies asleep, 

And rests the gallant southern brave. 
Alike the creeping tendrils twine- 
Alike the flowers brightly bloom- 
Alike the stars of evening shine 
On northern and on southern tomb. 



85 



MISSOURI YERSE. 

Thus, nature doth the lesson teach 

That God alike regards us all, 
And that, impartially, on each, 

His blessings He allows to fall; 
And yet our passion-blinded eyes 

Kefuse the lesson taught, to read, 
And oft we let dissensions rise 

With bitter word and wrongful deed. 

May He who on the troubled deep 

Said to the tempest, "Peace, be still!" 
When winds and waters fell asleep, 

And surging seas obeyed His will, 
Our country keep from cruel wars, 

And love, akin to His, impart 
To all beneath the stripes and stars, 

And make us, ever, one in heart! 

Horace A. Hutchison. 



TEMPUS FUGIT. 

Time creeps on, — 

The hours slow flying, 
The rose-buds dying, 

And childhood 's gone. 

Time steals on, — 
The fragrant flowers 
Fill all earth's bowers, 

And youth is gone. 

Time speeds on, — 
The blossom'd roses 
Are withered posies, 

And manhood 's gone. 

Time hastes on, — 
With wither'd, faded 
Flowers earth is laded, 

And life is gone. 

Frank Triplett. 



87 



MURILLO'S IMMACULATE CONCEPTION. 

Flowing like a veil of sunlight 

Gleams her silken rippling hair, 
With her glorious eyes to heaven 

Raised in mute and rapturous prayer; 
Features glowing soft in beauty, 

Every curve of grace so pure, 
Face of heavenly joy and patience, 

Great to love and to endure. 

Like a lily, whose snow petals 

Cannot hide the heart of gold, 
On this lovely face the story 

Of her life is clearly told; 
Gleams the purity of Heaven, 

Glows the strength of mother-love, 
Deep the human adoration, 

Grand the glory from above. 

Peace and hope, ecstatic gladness, 

Throw their light soft o'er her face; 
Sweet, true prayers rise up within us, 

As we murmur, "Full of grace." 
Could a human hand inspired 

Save by Heaven such beauty trace? 
God reward thee, great Murillo, 

For the gift of Mary's face. 

Bertha May Ivory. 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

The earliest lark had climbed to meet 
The sun, and though the forest spread 

Its rustling skirts o'er vanished feet, 
The light prints told of morning's tread. 

While sifted through the bashful gloom, 
The soft day-light fell pink and fair, 

Till Earth's cheek wore a flush of bloom, 
Though Time had planted furrows there. 

For O a beauteous sisterhood 
Of blossoms there together grew, 

And there a little primrose stood 
As Nature drew its curtains to! 

And where it dreamed, the East grew shy, 
With tremors of a rose-cocoon, 

Till — like a golden butterfly, 
Afar, scarce tilting on the noon, 

The sun, in sky-fields sloping west, 
Had settled at the edge of sight, 

With still, clapped wings, as if its quest 
Had been the starry lawn of night, 



90 MISSOURI VERSE. 

When lo! the primrose raised its head 

To peep from out a curtain fold, 
And as I passed, the twilight spread 

For me, a little face of gold. 

Although 'twas but a timid face, — 
Though but a primrose Time had sown, — 

None other saw it slyly raise 
The beauty that was mine alone. 

And somewhere O if I but see 

In passing, dropped from hour to hour 

Down through the years, Love has for me — 
A little flower, a little flower! 

William Emory Griffith. 



CRIPPLE TIM. 

The bootblacks and newsboys bad missed 

"Cripple Tim" 
For more than a week, and were talking of him 
When into their council, pinched, careworn, 

and thin, 
With cheeks pale and hollow, he came limp- 
ing in. 
"Bin sick, Tim?" said one; "Bin away?" said 

another. 
But Tim only murmured: "Bin a-nursin' my 

brother." 
And added: "Say, kids, here 's my kit fur two 

bits. 
Say, take it, some feller. I '11 throw in these 

mitts." 

The bargain once driven, his quarter in sight, 
Tim entered the newsroom and started to 

write; 
And tears filled the eyes of the warm-hearted 

clerk 
As he read the result of Tim's labored work; 
But it went into press just as Tim wrote it 

down, 
And was spelled out in whispers by the waifs 

of the town. 



91 



92 MISSOURI VERSE. 

"burnin feVer tuk him an lies DeD 
tim's onlY brother liTTle teD 
Gon up tu heVen thats aLL 
funral termorrer city haLL" 

"Kin it go fur a quarter?" said Tim with a sob. 
"I sold out my kit fur to pay fur the job. 
'Cause he died in my arms an' I want's him ter 

see, 
Way up there with mother, how he stood here 

with me." 

Tim's kit filled with flowers they took to his 

den, 
Each newsboy and bootblack contributing 

"ten," 
And Ted's little coffin as it sank 'neath the sod 
Was a tribute from street-waifs sent straight 

to their God. 

To Nature's warm touch each heart like a rose 
Unfolds in the garden of poor human woes. 

Frank 8. Hastings. 



THE SISTERS. 

Night, in the chambered East, 
Sits, with Dawn at the door. 

Dropped from her golden feast, 
Star-crumbs scatter the floor. 

Mice, from behind the sun, 

Patter along the sky: 
Nibbling the crumbs they run, 

Touching with foot-prints shy. 

Echoes, of purring sound, 

Softly begin to grow. 
Nothing more to be found; 

Scamper — away they go. 

Dawn, in the chambered East, 

Sits by an open door. 
Night has gone from the feast: 

Barren of crumbs the floor. 

William Emory Griffith. 



93 



DREAM DRIFT. 

Dreams drift out of tbe shadow land, 

Drifting to you and to me, 
Bringing us shadows out of the shapes 

That flit in its mystery. 
Shadows of happiness, shadows of smiles, 

Trooping an endless throng, 
That fade as quick as the summer shower 

Hushes a harvest song. 

I am weary, too — aweary. 

Yet the winds and the clouds sweep by, 
And the fierce gray form of the winter day 

Seeks not to mark their boundary. 
Yet, I reckon oft in my foolish heart, 

That out of this dream de'bris 
That is hurrying by on the tide of time, 

I can shape my destiny! 

And once when T saw you bow your head 

To hide the teardrops' trace, 
I saw where they had marked their way 

All on your face — your face! 
And I wondered then if the dream drift 

Had wafted a shadow fair 
That had turned to space when you reached to 
lay 

Your hand upon its hair. 

94 



DREAM DRIFT. 95 

And I could not say as you turned away 
Your eyes that the brine had wet: 

"Life and its clangor is too a dream — 
Forget, forget, forget!" 

G. W. Ogclen. 



FLOS C^LESTIS. 



I, for a moment free one set of sun, 
Walked in the sweet, supernal fields 
Amid the flowering of that which yields 
The essence of high deeds being done. 
And, as I stood, a sudden fragrance near 
Wrapped me about with happiness air-clear. 
On search, I found the aromal joy to be 
Outflowing from a lily newly sprung, 
And instantly, the bending blades among. 
I backward looked to earth for meaning of the 

mystery, 
And saw that — greater than man's wont of sac- 
rifice 
And gift of self to others' needs — 
One added to the tale of noblest deeds, 
And thus a flower had sprung in Paradise. 

Austin Arnold McCansland. 



CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 

[From A Little Book of Western Verse, copyrighted, 1889, by 
Eugene Field, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.] 

I count my treasures o'er with care, — 

The little toy my darling knew, 

A little sock of faded hue, 
A little lock of golden hair. 

Long years ago this holy time, 

My little one — my all to me — 

Sat robed in white upon my knee 
And heard the merry Christmas chime. 

"Tell me, my little golden-head, 
If Santa Claus should come to-night, 
What shall he bring my baby bright, — 

What treasures for my boy?" I said. 

And then he named this little toy, 

While in his round and mournful eyes 
There came a look of sweet surprise, 

That spake his quiet, trustful joy. 

And as he lisped his evening prayer 
He asked the boon with childish grace, 
Then, toddling to the chimney-place, 

He hung this little stocking there. 



CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 97 

That night, while lengthening shadows crept, 
I saw the white-winged angels come 
With singing to our lowly home 

And kiss my darling as he slept. 

They must have heard his little prayer, 
For in the morn, with rapturous face, 
He toddled to the chimney-place, 

And found this little treasure there. 

They came again one Christmas-tide, — 
That angel host, so fair and white! 
And singing all that glorious night, 

They lured my darling from my side. 

A little sock, a little toy, 

A little lock of golden hair, 

The Christmas music on the air, 
A-watching for my baby boy! 

But if again that angel train 
And golden-head come back to me, 
To bear me to Eternity, 

My watching will not be in vain! 

Eugene Field. 



VOICES OF THE PAST. 

When sad of heart and spirit — tired, 
We strive to pierce the gloom 

Which shrouds our onward weary path 
Through sorrow to the tomb, 

From out the gloom a ray appears, 

Familiar faces shine, — 
Sweet faces of our childhood days, 

Enshrined by love divine. 

They come like gleams of sunshine, 
To gladden our later years; 

They lift the gloom from off the heart 
And dry up sorrow's tears. 

The searcher on the path of fame, 

The toiler by the way, 
May gain a laurel, win a name, — 

The marvel of a day. 

But wearied with the world's applause, 
How much his heart rejoices 

When from the dreamy past he hears 
The old familiar voices! 



98 



VOICES OF THE PAST. 99 

They come like gleams of sunshine, 

To gladden our later years; 
They lift the gloom from off the heart 

And dry up sorrow's tears. 

Julius Luther Marshall. 



"ICH D1EN. 



Oh, humble motto of a royal knight! 

I take thee for mine own; thou suitest me, 

Whose state is lowly and of poor degree! 
I cannot lead, like Edward, in the fight 
The soul doth wage 'gainst evil for the right, 

Yet I can serve as faithfully as he. 

For lowliest deeds, well done, shall be 
Plumes of true honor o'er a crown most bright! 

And should my heart rebel when, laurel- 
crowned, 
Earth's victors pass me to the thrilling strain 
Of martial music, I will crush the pain 
That winds, with snaky folds, my heart around, 
And say with him* — that poet true and 

great — 
"They also serve who only stand and wait!" 
Adela Stevens-Cody. 

♦Milton. 



AS YEARS GO BY. 

I mark how seasons come and go, 
How waters ebb and waters flow, 
And how, each year, sweet roses show, 
And how each winter hath its snow, 
As years go by. 

I note the wild birds' tuneful song 
Sent through the spring-time all along, 
And how the hosts of Nature throng 
With ne'er a bar or quaver wrong, 
As years go by. 

I mind how things, once eager sought, 
Seem less and less until as naught 
They come and beg to stay, unbought; 
'Tis vain — the mind is better taught 
As years go by. 

1 see how friendships grow more near, 
How life seems less and love more dear, 
How fables vanish every year, 
While truth shines on forever clear 
As years go by. 



100 



AS YEARS GO BY. 101 

I often muse, as time grows less, 
Of how that siren — Happiness — 
Is still besought to come and bless, 
Yet oft refuses one caress, 
As years go by. 

I think — how close the future lies 
Veiled from our troubled, tear-blind eyes; 
And of that near-time, glad surprise, 
When we shall enter Paradise — 
As years go by. 

Annie A. Stevens-Dugan. 



JUST BEYOND. 

We laugh at childhood's idle tale — 

The story quaint and old, 
That near the rainbow's purple rim 

There gleams a pot of gold ; 
But eager youth oft sits and dreams 

Of journeys o'er the way, 
In which the yellow gold still gleams, 

Each showery April day. 

While trusting hearts and tireless feet 

Expect some day to go 
Where "just beyond" the green earth meets 

The dazzling bended bow, 
And gather up the shining gold, 

When the toilsome journey 's past, 
And bear it home to cottage hearths, — 

A thing of joy at last. 

But the long, long journey is never made, 

And youth to manhood grows, 
And learns the gold is not attained, 

Though the sky holds many bows. 
For age comes after, with shadowy smile, 

Kepeating the story old, 
Of April skies with rainbow hues, 

And heaps of yellow gold. 

102 



JDST BEYOND. 103 

And so, forever, ''just beyond" — 

Lies something we strive to attain, 
And whether we lose, or whether we win, 

Life brings its joy and pain. 
And we know its sky is a mist of blue, 

With a tangle of golden stars, 
And a rift of cloud, with rain-drops through, 

And a bow with bended bars. 

We know the earth is broad and green, 

With its rippling, murmuring waves, 
Its fields of flowers, and vales between, 

And its quiet, hallowed graves; 
For earth and sky seem ever to meet, 

Whichever way we turn, 
And 'tis "just beyond," to youth or age, 

Whatever lessons we learn. 

Oh, "just beyond" — there is always the bow 

Of promise that spans our way, 
For which eager hearts and tireless feet 

Strive earnestly day by day, 
Till, through the misty years that pass, 

We are weaving the web of life, 
With a shimmer of gold where sunlight falls, 

Or a shadow which tells of strife. 



104 MISSOURI 7 ERSE. 

But "just beyond," at life's journey's end, 

Are treasures more precious than gold; 
We know it is true as we eagerly list 

To the story sweet and old; 
And above the glimmer of golden stars 

Or the misty skies of blue, 
Above the bended bow of bars, 

Is a fadeless life that is true. 

Maria V. Musick. 



AUGUST. 



Under the quivering heat-haze, 

Through whose shimmer the brown quail 
wades, 
A-list to the moist corn voices 

Speaking from wind-struck blades, 
Sultrily fanned by gauzy wings 

A-tilt in a sheer bandrol, 
And lulled by a sound from tangled shades, 

The wood-dove's "cool, cool," 
On a bed of billowy grasses, 

Sunk in a languorous swoon, 
O slumb'rous month, thou 'rt prone and a- 
dream, 

Under a pale day moon. 

Austin Arnold McCausland. 



THE INDIAN PINK. 

An Indian maid her sire beloved 
Had guarded through the night, 

For wounded sore and weak he lay, 
Far from the bloody fight. 

There came a foe beside their couch 

Beneath the wildwood tree, 
And bade her leave her sire to him 

If she would yet be free. 

With noble heart she kept her watch. 
Nor faltered from her trust, 

Resolved beside him there to live 
Or perish if she must. 

With dastard stroke he laid her low; 

And, where her blood flowed bright, 
The spring-time marked the sacred spot 

With flower of crimson light. 

Anna M. Weems. 



105 



FAITH. 

My hopes, brave-hearted, 
Have long departed 

Upon life's troubled sea; 
Their barques, now scattered, 
Are broken, shattered — 

They '11 never come home to me. 

Hopes, richly bedecked, 
On realities wrecked, 

Went down near home and shore; 
Entombed by the waves, 
In their coral graves, 

They rest and rise no more. 

So nothing will last; 
We strive till the past 

Envelops our mind's ideal, 
Then we grope alone, 
With tear and moan, 

Braving the storms of the real. 



106 



FAITH. 107 

As we sadly grope 
There 's yet one hope 

No wave has overthrown — 
All, all is not dark, 
For Faith, in its barque, 

Is sailing the sea alone. 

John N. Edwards, Jr. 



A FLOWER THERE BLOOMED. 

Once a flower there bloomed with hope in its 

dyes; 
'Twas born of the light of the soft sunny skies; 
But faded one day 
And fell by the way; 
And now, when I see it with tears in my eyes, 
I think of the glad hour when first I beheld, 
Ere strangely and rudely the spoiler had felled; 
And then evermore, 
With heart sad and sore, 
I fear tie wild gloom which its beauty dis- 
pelled. 

Anna M. Weems. 



TRIBUTE TO JOE SHELBY. 

[General Shelby died in Kansas City, Missouri, February 13, and 
was buried February 17, 1897.] 

The civil war is over, yet memory oft revives 
The scenes and incidents of active, noble lives. 
But methinks the brave, true men who wore 

the blue and gray 
Ne'er mourned a common loss so sadly as 

to-day. 
A gallant hero 's fallen; and General Shelby's 

name 
(With its familiar record of military fame) 
Is tenderly repeated in trem'lous, tearful tone, 
And grief's memorial offering by loving trib- 
utes shown. 

Most generous and gracious in kindly word and 

deed 
Was he to widow's sorrow, to orphan's want 

and need, 
Still shall time and history an honored record 

bear 
Of true and worthy sentiment, of actions good 

and fair, 



108 



TRIBUTE TO GENERAL JOE SHELBY. 109 

Of loyalty to country and to his fellow-man, 
That friend or foe alike may ever proudly scan. 
His failings were but few, his virtues e'er shall 

shine 
While glowing luster all undimmed by the 

lapse of time. 

No more his country's need his loyalty can 
move, 

No more through fear or favor his fortunes ever 
prove, 

No more can anxious care or fateful ill befall, 

For Death , the mighty conqueror, has over- 
come them all. 

His friends, associates, comrades, have civic 
honors paid 

And beside his loved and lost their faithful 
hero laid. 

Martial notes and cannon's boom in mingled 
echoes tell 

Of lingering regret and a sorrowful farewell. 

Mary J. Benton. 



THE GOD BEHIND THE BLUE. 

'Twas a summer eve, and the air was sweet, 

And the sky was a sapphire sea 
That had ne'er been torn by the brazen prow 

Or been mocked by the Storm King's glee. 
'Twas as soft as that where the citron blooms 

And the stars peep shyly through, 
When a wandering child came forth to seek 

For the God behind the blue. 

He had oft been told that the great God dwells 

In a home just beyond the sky, 
And that angels carry the children there 

When they sicken of earth and die. 
"Must I wait so< long, till the angels come 

When I die, to bear me through? 
No, I '11 go alone to the hills and climb 

To the God behind the blue." 

But the night came on and the dew was chill, 

And the way was so dark, so cold, 
That the child lay down on a bed of moss 

And was found 'neath the branches old; 
But he wept and said, as they bore him home 

O'er a pathway strange and new, 
"When a man, I '11 come again and climb 

To the God behind the blue." 

no 



THE GOD BEHIND THE BLUE. Ill 

When tbe years had passed and that time had 
come 
When he stood in his fair youth's pride, — 
When his glance was strong and his heart beat 
high 
With the rush of a spring-time tide, — 
When he might have climbed to the mountain's 
top 
And have pierced the gray clouds through, 
He had almost lost his childish faith 
In a God behind the blue. 

He had wed, and she whom he loved was fair, 

And her brow like her soul was white, 
And her small, weak hand held him back from 
guilt 

When he lost all love of right; 
For he held with those of the newer creed, 

With the duped, deluded few, 
W T ho are wont to smile at the "pretty myth," 

Of a God behind the blue. 

But the fair wife died in his arms one day, 
And his rainbow dreams grew dim; 

For what was the Christian's steadfast hope 
In an after-life to him? 



112 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Was He just, that God of the Christian's faith? 

Could he think such things were true, 
When he felt but now the chastening rod 

Of the God behind the blue? 

There was only one who had power to calm 

All the storms of his spirit's deep, 
Who could win him back from his frenzied 
state, 

And could sootbe him at last to sleep; 
'Twas the fair, sweet child, by the mother left 

As a guardian spirit true, 
Who at last should lead that weary soul 

To the God behind the blue. 

He is lying now in a breathless trance, 

His lips and his brow are cold, 
But he bowed long since to the chastening rod, 

And in work for the Christ grows old. 
He smiles to see that the skies are bright, 

That the sunbeams shimmer through 
Ere he goes once more, a child, to seek 

For the God behind the blue. 

Hattie E. Battson. 



LINES TO A LILY. 

Thou pride of Nature's mystic might, 
With golden heart and. robe of white ! 

At love's command, 

My tremulous hand, 
Keluctant, plucks thee from the throne, 
Where thou art borne in state alone. 

Fair type of purity and grace! 
Fate gives to thee a nobler place, 

O'er throbbing heart. 

Oh, there impart 
With whispers soft the story old. 
The tale my lips would fain unfold. 

Though beauty fade, love will remain, 
Through all life's maze of joy and pain, 

Still pure and new 

And ever true, 
Till ceases Time's resistless flow, 
And perfect Love the soul shall know. 

8. A. Lynch. 



113 



CHABITY. 

True purity, 

Oh rarity; 
But rarer still 

Is charity. 

To throw a shield o'er others' woes, 
To see the good in conquered foes, 
To cure a heart sick from life's blows, 
Is charity. 

To bid a banished one, "Come in," 
Back from temptation and from sin, 
To tread the path Christ did begin, 
Is charity. 

To know some good is in each heart, 
To strive to see the better part, 
To pray our censure may depart, 
Is charity. 

Then save, not sink a struggling one, 
And help repentance once begun, 
And pray God blot our sins, each one, 
With charity. 

Grace Hewitt Sharp. 



114 



DEAD NATIONS. 

"Take the wings 
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 
Save his own dashing — yet the dead are there : 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep." — Bryant. 

Where are the nations that have lived and died, 
That have come and gone with the silent tide 

Of the years? 
What of their coming, 
What of their going, 

What of their reaping, 
What of their sowing, 

Of hopes and fears — 

Heartaches and tears? 
To think, the dust beneath our feet 
Did one day walk, where we now meet 
In all the busy haunts of life, 
And, like us, lived in toil and strife; 
And where were empires of renown, 
Grim forests now are looking down, 
And weird watch keeping in the gloom 
O'er nameless dust and nameless tomb. 



115 



116 MISSOURI VERSE. 

To what eternity have they fled — 
This voiceless dust — this myriad dead? 

I cannot tell; can you? 
But this I know — where e'er it be — 
Or what it holds for you or me — 

We 're going too. 

F. Burdette Wilson. 



PUEITY AND HOPE IN DEATH. 

Flowers shed their sweetest breath 
When the white frosts blight, 

And eyes which close in death 
Give their truest light. 

The earth weeps tear of dew 

Over the vanished day; 
And true eyes fill with sorrow, too, 

Wlien Love flies away. 

But morn shall come again, 
And spring restore the flowers; 

And the soul in other worlds regain 
The love lost in ours. 

Nathaniel Morton Baskett. 



THE MAGICAL RING. 

A ring there was of magic power, 
That passed from maid to maid; 

And whoso wore it sang so well 
That every heart was stayed. 

Twas given to a fair one once, 
Who sang the birds to sleep; 

And all the day they nestled down 
With little eyes to peep. 

Another sang so mournfully 

That all who heard her wept; 
And all the breezes blowing there 

The tragic music kept. 

And yet another one sang low, 

And she had love and praise, 
And left sweet memories in their hearts 

For many, many days. 

The last who wore this magic ring 

Sang like a heavenly sprite, 
And when the music died away, 

She vanished from their sight. 

Anna M. Weems. 



117 



THE WIND IN THE EAVES. 

How the wintry wind is wailing in the eaves! 

How it weeps with sigh and moan! 

How it sinks to sob and groan, 
While it grieves, while it grieves! 
Are those whisperings in the eaves 

But soft threnodies of gloom, 

Liberated from the tomb, 
Of a soul that ever grieves — 

Ever grieves, with sigh and moan, 

Ever weeps, with sob and groan? 

Yes, it seems the sad refrain 
Of a soul that sings in pain; 

And its song is moan and moan, 

And its melody a groan — 
Hear it sink, and sigh, and wane, 
In a mellow, mournful strain — 

How it weeps! bow it weeps! 
Sighing, weeping, shrill and high, 
Soon it melts to lullaby; 

But its song is moan and moan, 

And its melody a groan. 



118 



THE WIND IN THE EAVES. 119 

To the eaves, upon the gale, 
Voices come to weep and wail — 

How they sigh, and sob, and moan, 

Linger long in dole and groan, 
How they weep! how they weep! 
With a sorrow sad and deep! 

'Tis like a threnody of gloom, 

Welling from an anguished tomb; 
Shrill they wail, and wail, and wail, 

Soft they mourn, and mourn, and mourn, 
And the notes of dole and sorrow 

Seem from souls all anguish torn. 

John N. Edwards, Jr. 



TWO DAWNS. 



Once, long ago, he kissed her on 
Eyes, mouth, and childish chin, 

And with great peace he saw the dawn 
Of love, her eyes within. 

Last night he watched alone, beside 
A something, stark and thin, 

'Till through the casement, staring wide, 
The sodden dawn crept in. 

Anne Tozier. 



A NEW YEAR RETROSPECTION. 

[January i, 1893.] 

The clock upon the mantel-piece has struck the 

midnight hour, 
The chime of bells rings gaily forth from 

yonder steepled tower, 
The air is vibrant from their throats, alone I 

sit and muse, 
Why is it with Time's frosting touch the hopes 

of youth we lose? 

Do hearts grow old with passing years? Alas! 

it must be so; 
The heart of youth would ill become a head so 

touched with snow. 
Who plays Life's game with Father Time, 

plays e'er with loaded dice, 
For youth and its impassioned joys come ne'er 

to mortals twice. 

Perhaps 'tis better as it is, that to man's long- 
ing eyes 

Comes only on this earth of ours one glimpse of 
Paradise; 

It were not well with mortals here were Earth's 
stern barriers riven, 

And to the world-worn mariner too much of 

Heaven were given; 
120 



A ftEW YEAR RETROSPECTION. 121 

Yet I will ask a boon to-day, O year of 'ninety- 
three! 

Out of the favors in thy store, grant one, I pray, 
to me. 

Within the heart of him who pleads ambition 
long has fled, 

And all the ardent dreams of Youth are with- 
ered, cold, and dead. 

He feels the frost of ripening years, his powers 

begin to wane, 
And ne'er will hand, or tongue, or brain their 

cunning find again; 
His spirit, broken, longs for rest, he views the 

setting sun; 
With him, at least, he knows full well the best 

of life is done. 

He asks you, then, O coming year, ere yet thy 

dawn's full flush 
Has tinted hill and landscape with its golden, 

radiant blush, 
To guard the loving ones at home, and shield 

them from Life's storms, 
And let the ruder blasts of Earth ne'er touch 

their tender forms. 



122 MISSOURI VERSE. 

On Mother, Wife, and Baby dear thy richest 
gifts bestow; 

They 're worthy of the precious boon, O year, 
I fully know. 

If you must give the bitter draught, and path- 
ways rough be trod, 

Let him who asks thee for thy gifts bow to the 
chastening rod. 

Edwin Arthur Welti/. 



VIOLET. 

When Morning stole across the distant plain 
To wreathe the peeping blooms with aerial 
dye, 
The first and foremost of the gaudy train 
That made her welcome was the azure eye 
Of Violet, whose modest blushes said : 
"Come bless me, Morning, in my little bed." 

When Morning stoop'd to pay the want'd due, 
She drop'd, from her heart, a jewel rich and 
rare — 
A jewel wrap'd in rays of golden hue: 

And Morning said, "Fair one, this jewel 

wear; 
'Twill ever be your truest, best defense; 
It is Modesty rob'd in Innocence." 

George H. Walser. 



THE HOME OF OUR CHILDHOOD. 

The home of our childhood! ah, could it receive 

All its children, if but for a day! 
Could the hours as of old, on their fleet wings 
of gold, 

Bring the joys they have borne far away! 

The dew of the morn ne'er returns to a day 
That in summer is nearing its noon; 

The scent of the rain, how we long for in vain, 
Through a drought in the fiery June! 

But echoes of voices come back to me now, 
As the perfumes dead roses have left; 

The false horoscope dims the vision of hope, 
But the boy-heart is not all bereft. 

Mysterious whispers in solitude heard, 
Or the sight of a wild woodland flower, 

The clear rhythmic fall of the waterman's call, 
Wake the memory of some happy hour. 

Once more we are running the old round of 
sports, 

That outran the swift sands of the day; 
So vivid they seem, can it be a day-dream? 

Or a vision that passes away? 

123 



124 MISSOURI 7 ERSE. 

Now roaming the woods for wild jessamine 
wreaths, 
Building houses of pine-tops and straw, 
Now scouring the dell for the tree-cricket's 
shell, 
Now forming our squadrons for war. 

The orchard, just tinted with crimson and gold, 

Now invites eager rivals to seize 
On the ripest fruit, often won with dispute, 

From the tops of the well-laden trees. 

The pond never failed to afford us delight: 
There our fleet and our merchantmen lay; 

There battles were won without firing a gun, 
And rich argosies sunk out of play. 

The old knotted oak, on the brow of the hill, 
Must in loneliness shed many a tear; 

Its arms are outspread, but its children are fled, 
And its big heart is breaking, I fear. 

With mosses and pebbles we decked its gray 
roots, 
Made love and kept house with the girls; 
From the buttercup beds we showered their 
heads, 
And laughed at the tangle of curls. 



THE HOME OF OUR CHILDHOOD. 125 

Or gazed on the wind-driven clouds as they 
swept 

Thwart the zenith, till listless we dreamed 
By the margent green and the silvery sheen 

Of the river that sparkled and gleamed. 

Each day brought its pleasures, each season 
new joys, 

Transient all but a mother's warm love, 
Who affection outpoured and on us implored 

Benedictions that come from above. 

The home of our childhood, made sacred by 
time, 
And the dead now embalmed in our hearts! 
I turn from its shades, from its hills and its 
glades, 
As a pilgrim from Mecca departs. 

No need of the poet of Grasmere to sing 
Of a glory that 's passed from the earth, 

Forever has passed, yet its memories last, 
Consecrating life's sorrow and mirth. 

Vain thought, that the splendors of morning 
may pierce 
Through the shades of the twilight gloam, 
But in visions of night the soul catches sight 
Of spring-time, of boyhood, and home. 

Edward A. Allen. 



RAIN IN WINTER. 

In the sky there is no brightness, 
In the heart there is no lightness, 

For the rain, with sodden pour, 
Falls with melancholy sadness, 
Robbing earth of all the gladness 

Of the brighter days of yore. 

Oh, there 's naught that sounds so dreary, 
Naught on earth makes one so weary, 

On a cold, dull winter's day, 
As the chilling rain, down-pouring, 
Blowing, driving, whirling, roaring, 

From the sky so darkly gray. 

In the spring the April showers 
Intervene with sunlit hours, 

Then we gladly hail the rain; 
But in winter, when the weather 
And the spirit are chilled together, 

To the heart it drives a pain. 

Scarcely pain, 'tis something lighter; 
Scarcely sorrow, something brighter; 

Yet our mood is far from gay. 
Droops the spirit, gloomy, dreary; 
The constant pouring makes one weary, 

On a cold, dull winter's day. 

Lorena Michell Webb. 

126 



THE DREAM SHIP. 

Could I but stand at the dream ship's helm, 
As it floats through the haunted skies, 

And guide her course through the airy realm 
To where my true love lies, 

I would bid the angel with the wreath of rue 

To toss bright dreams and fair 
O'er my gallant knight, so brave and true, 

Peacefully slumbering there. 

angel with the wreath of rue, 

In your ghostly ship you stand, 
Wafting dreams through the ether blue 

lu every clime, on every land. 

Then sail away in your dream ship bright, 
Through the mystic, midnight skies; 

Bring him I love sweet dreams to-night 
Of his maid with the dreamy eyes. 

Alice D. Read. 



127 



BY THE RIVER, ONCE AND AGAIN. 

TAs two little boys were playing in the river, one was carried out 
by the current and drowned. The gloom of the evening of the trag- 
edy was deepened by the fruitlessness of all attempts to find the body: 
it will rest somewhere in our great river "till the sea shall give up 
its dead." Years after, his companion, grown to manhood, chanced 
to come back to the spot (near Lexington, Missouri), after many wan- 
derings. The scene came before his mind again, and his changed 
view of it is expressed in the lines below.] 

river, deep and turbid river, 

Your dark waves rolling restless, resting never, 

1 stood beside you long, long years ago, 
And wept and chided you in childjsh woe. 

Two happy-hearted boys, I and my friend, 
Played on your banks or swam around "tbe 

bend," 
Until you took bim from me one sad day, 
And all life's sunsbine seemed to fade away. 

You dallied, river, gently .with bis bair, 
You beeded not bis cry nor piteous prayer, 
You closed above bis reaching, helpless bands, 
And hid him from me in your shifting sands. 

But since then, river, years and years are gone; 
And all too well this false world I have known ; 
The hopes and dreams that he and I had then 
Came never true, nor can return again. 

128 



BY THE RIVER, ONCE AND AGAIN. 129 

Oil changing life! mysterious is the wave 
That sweeps youth's visions from before 
Hope's grave! 

heart that beat in purity and trust, 

The false embittered and turned you to dust. 

So, river, standing on your banks to-day, 

1 chide you not for taking him away; 
But would that in his little hands, 

Clasped and at rest I were, beneath your sands. 

George Wilson. 



TO A PESSIMIST. 

Concerning heretics you make 

An argument too bare; 
They were suspended from a stake, 

Now only from a chair. 

Dissenters from the standards then 
The pious churchmen roasted; 

To-day by milder-mannered men, 
You know, they 're only toasted. 

If then an age of stern Belief 

Did such like deeds beget, 
The age of Doubt, despite your grief, 

May make us Christians yet. 

Edward A. Allen. 



GOVERNOR CRITTENDEN'S SILVER 
WEDDING. 

Oh, pulsing memories, rich with years, 

And freighted with the fruit aDd bloom 
Of garnered hopes and joys and tears, 
With blushing bride and happy groom, 
Come back across the flowery way! 
Stand forth amid the brilliant throng, 
And sweetly, like repeated song, 
Renew the vows you 've kept, so long, 
On this your silver wedding day. 

'Neath smiling moons and happy stars, 

As wandering in the twilight gold, 
You watched the floating silver bars 
Of cloudlets in the days of old; 
And lingering 'neath their hallowed ray, 
One sought the hand so soft and fair, 
And vows were spoke and plighted there 
That now come back, like answered prayer, 
On this your silver wedding day. 

Amid the hushed, admiring throng, 
You vowed in manly truth and pride, 

Back in the days now gone so long, 
To love and cherish your fair bride, 
And, led by Love's celestial sway, 

130 



GOV. CRITTENDEN'S SILVER WEDDING. 131 

Hath kept thy honored vow and truth; 
And thy fair bride of early youth 
Still cheers, with loving trust and truth, 
Thy joyous silver wedding day. 

Love, hallowed by the flight of years, 

Hath shed its fragrance and its cheer; 
Like roses kissed by dewy tears, 
Your cares have even drawn you near, 
And other lives have blessed your way. 
Where were not, now there stand forth four, 
And love, like fabled fairy store, 
Divided is not less, but more, 

On this your silver wedding day. 

May sweet companionship and joys 
Be thine without earth's sad alloys, 
And fame time brightens, not destroys, 

Upon thy golden wedding day. 
And 'cross the span of ether blue, 

Beyond the starry realms of time, 
Housed with the nobly good and true, 
In temple built by Love sublime, 
Renew home's circle far away, 
Where peace and joy their banners wave, 
And heaven restores what time once gave 
To peopled worlds beyond the grave — 
Dream of earth's silver wedding day. 

George W. Warder. 



THE VANISHING ONE. 

I hold her image in my heart 

As memory holds a rhyme. 
She is of Life just such a part 

As of a bell it's chime. 
She seems the vast Eternity 

To which I tend, like Time. 

She is the embodied Perfectness 
To which th' Imperfect yearns. 

She is the hopeless Hopefulness 
On which all being turns; 

The ashes unto which Life's fire, 
Glad of extinction, burns. 

Her pathway sun-like to the west 

I follow to the east. 
Upon her smile throughout the quest, 

Poor Barmecide, I feast. 
The nearer I approach to her, 

Her distance is increased. 

She is within me, and without 

She beckons to pursue. 
Now she 's Belief and now she 's Doubt; 

Near, false; at distance, true! 
Death will bring her to my arms, 

And shall I find she 's— You? 

William Marion Reedy. 

132 



SWEETHEART OF THE LONG AGO. 

Sweetheart of the long ago, 
Little girl I used to know, 
How I long again to be 
Charmed with thy simplicity. 

You and I have older grown, 
Dreams have vanished, hopes have flown, 
Times and customs grown apace 
Place us with the commonplace. 

And the dreams that I dreamed then 
Have been dreamed by other men; 
We 've but shared the common lot, 
Dreamed our dreams and then forgot. 

Every heart has some romance 
That gives way to circumstance; 
Every soul has known the pain 
Of a vision seen in vain. 

Yet again I long to be 
Charmed with thy simplicity, 
Little girl I used to know, 
Sweetheart of the long ago. 

William B. Hereford. 



133 



IN ANSWER. 

I'm dreaming to-night of realms ideal; 

I 'm thinking of what I would be. 
Sweet musings that bear me away from the 
real 

Come down from above to me. 

A beautiful longing, yet undefined, 

To dwell in a higher sphere; 
Where harmony, love, and peace combined 

Soothe back each rising tear. 

Then gently there steals a healing balm 

Into this yearning heart; 
It comes unasked with a quieting calm 

Of which earth can have no part. 

And I know that God, in that tender love 
Which marks e'en the sparrow's fall, 

Has lent His presence sweet from above 
To my soul's unconscious call. 

Grace Hewitt Sharp. 



134 



TO A DEAF LADY. 

She lives amid the silence, 
Her spirit vexed by no gross sound; 

Her thoughts are shining purities 
And unseen angels hovering round 
Speak to her sense that words would wound. 

And in her sky-pure eyes one sees 

The calmness of her soul so white. 

Does she not hear, in the stillness drowned, 

The calling of my heart to-night? 

The breakers of the ether-seas 

That on the isled-planets pound; 
The soft wind sighing in the trees, 

The fall of ripe fruit on the ground 

Of that fair garden still unfound, 
The garden of Hesperides — 
All these she hears, as blind feel light. 

O, does she hear, my love quiet-crowned, 
The calling of my heart to-night? 

The murmur of the vanished bees 
That swarmed above Hymettus' mound, 

The long-stilled mystic cadences 

Of Sirens in their blown hair gowned, 
The strains of Orpheus' lyre renowned, 



135 



136 MISSOURI VERSE. 

The sigh that was Eurydice's — 

Her soul hears these in its high flight, 

But hears she not, like a wailing hound, 
The calling of my heart to-night? 

UEnvoi. 
Lady, the gods on me have frowned 
And turned to gloom all things once bright, 

If thou hear'st not, in thy silence bound, 
The calling of my heart to-night. 

William Marion Reedy. 



THE BRIDE OF DEATH. 

Death, the ebon-crowned, had claimed her; 

White she lay, his marble bride ; 
White the wedding-shroud about her, 

White wan faces at her side. 

Death had kissed the lips of ruby 
That my own had fondly pressed — 

Ebon hands among the tresses, 
Golden tresses oft caressed. 

Death, the robber, stole the splendor 
From her jewelled, joyous eyes, 

And my soul, that won and lost her, 
Soars and seeks her in the skies. 

John N. Edwards, Jr. 



ANE DRAP O' RAIN. 

Ane braw day in April 

I walkit frae the toun, 
An' as I jeed to burnie path 

A wee drap tilted doon. 

"Cluds are fixed for rainin'," 

Sae spak a winsome lad; 
An' wi' a bonny blinkin' ee, 

He happed me in his plaid. 

In shoon sax fit standin', 

I 'd no seen sic a lad — 
I thoeht it saftly to mysel' 

Whiles wearin' o' his plaid. 

Ane drap might be hunner,* 

An' a' on me might rin; 
Whiles in his plaid I '11 tentf it nae, 

Tho' blasts should blow me blin'. 

Noo that laddie lo'es me, 

My heart it is fu' fain, 
An' for it a' I thankfu' am 

To that ane drap o' rain. 

M. W. Prewitt-Doneghif. 

♦Hundred. 
tTake heed. 

137 



THERE 'S A TIME. 

There 's a time when trials beset us, 

When life is o'ershadowed by woe, 
When the loved ones of yore forget us, 

And the dark, dreary days come and go ; 
When all of life that could cheer us 

Has flitted away like the dawn, 
And the friends that were once so near us — 

Alas! like the seasons have gone. 

Even youth, the fickle gazelle, 

Has skipped to the woodlands, to play; 
As he bounds o'er the flowery dell, 

Careless and happy and gay, 
We are left aloDe in our sorrow, 

Still treading life's rocky pathway, 
Dreading the dawn of the morrow, 

And the cares of another day. 

Toilworn, weary, forsaken, 

Trembling with age, and weak, 
The years that are gone have taken 

The rose from the faded cheek. 
The eye with its luster and brightness 

Is dimmed and fading away, 
The step has lost all its lightness, 

And the hair is a somber gray. 

138 



THERE 'S A TIME. 139 

Yes, down life's tide we 're drifting, 

While the tempest is raging high, 
And the wave our bark is lifting, 

Up to the starry sky. 
From the breast of the swollen stream, 

We gaze to the throne above. 
Oh joy at last! for a sudden gleam 

Eeveals that Face of Love. 

Willene Marie Sphar. 



WORDSWORTH. 



His tuneful touch made hills the silence break, 

Proclaiming loud a sounding melody; 

All Nature — every bird and bloom and tree 
Bade him their deepest buried secrets take; 
And he in flowing, glowing diction spake 

Of all their beauty and their liberty. 

He burst the bonds of Nature; she was free — 
The slumberer of centuries was awake. 

He sings of summer sunbeam's glowing gleam, 
Of running brook, of prancing, dancing 
flower, 
Of waterfall and silent, gliding stream — 

He is inspired with God's uplifting power. 
Sweet Nature to his aid he loves to bring, 
And of her simple beauty ever sing. 

Van Cleave W. Schweich. 



TIME AND I. 

Time and I were comrades gay; 
Long we frolicked on the way, 
While he veiled his hoary mein, 
While he hid his sickle keen. 

And I never saw his face, 
But I dreamed he wore youth's grace! 
For his hand lay warm in mine, 
Radiance from him seemed to shine! 

But there came a day serene, 
All the earth was gold and green, 
Time grew wroth — I know not why — 
Snipped the blooms, as we passed by! 

Afterwards, his sickle-glare 

Flashed before me, everywhere! 

Every seed of hope I've sowed, 

In its bloom, Time's scythe hath mowed! 

Still, he keeps his hand in mine, 
Drags me on, through shade and shine. 
Time! You need not think I care, 
Though you clip life's foot-paths bare! 



140 



TIME AND I. 141 

For there cometh soon a day 
You must fling that scythe away! 
Ay, the Patmos- angel swore, 
"Time, itself, shall he no morel" 

Lillian Kelley. 



COACHING. 



The musical trumpet's blast, 

The sound of laughter gay; 
Then word to start is passed, 

And the tally-ho rolls away. 

Out of the city's street, 

Far from the noisy throng, 
Into the country sweet, 

It rambles gaily along. 

Over the cool, green hills, 

And down through the wooded dales; 
Fragrant with daffodils, 

And vocal with calling quails. 

Happy each youthful face, 

Merry the mirthful wits; 
And lo! in the footman's place, 

Trumpeter Cupid sits. 

Arthur Grissom. 



AIR CASTLES. 
I've built me a castle so wondrously high 
That clouds cap its summit against the blue sky, 
And those whom I love are all moving there 
To the music that happiness sheds on the air. 
Bright garlands are wreathed of the fairest of 

flowers, 
And sweetest of music beguiles the glad hours. 

The faces I love are all radiant with joy, 

And each heart as light as a child's with its toy; 

No thorns 'mid the flowers, no serpents there 

coil, 
No anguish, no pain, no care, and no toil. 
Oh, beautiful vision! how long wilt thou last? 
Thou art fading e'en now — and fading so fast! 

Is there naught that can save thee, O beauti- 
ful dream, 
From the merciless wave of Time's rapid 

stream? 
Of the earth was it born, like the earth must it 

fade; 
In heaven alone may our treasures be laid : 
There our treasures endure forever and aye, 
For Time can not change them nor Death take 
away. 

Mary U. Thistle. 

142 



ODE TO THE NIGHT. 

Fair, beauteous night! we hail thy kind ap- 
proach 
With heart-felt joy, and longingly await 
Thy gentle presence, with an anxious heart, 
As timid maiden 'waits her lover's touch. 
Thou stealest like a shadow over earth, 
Bringing refreshing dew to glad the flowers, 
And rest to weary man. Thy silent shades 
Fall gratefully upon the weary world — 
A benediction, bringing sweet repose. 
How often man would tax his tired hands 
Beyond their wonted strength and energy, 
Did not thy welcome shadows gently fall, 
Closing the labors of the toilsome day — 
Breaking the dull monotony of care 
Which fills some heart in every passing hour! 
There is a grandeur in thy silent shades 
When full-orbed moon beams in a cloudless 

sky, 
And stars, thy burning sentinels, gleam bright 
With matchless beauty, through the quiet 

hours. 
O silent, restful night, we wait for thee, 
And hail thy coming with a joyous heart! 
Thy presence like a hallowed influence comes, 
And all the cares of life glide noiselessly 
Into the dream-land of forgetfulness. 

143 



144 MISSOURI TERSE. 

We drift so smoothly on Lethean waves, 
Half-conscious, we exist in blissful rest 
Upon Elysian shores until the dawn. 
Thou comest to the poor and rich alike, 
And e'en the beggar, wandering in the street, 
Oft dreams himself a king, and this broad land 
His realm, the moon his royal coronet, 
And stars the jewels of his princely realm. 
The rich man, burdened with his hoarded 

wealth, 
At thine approach will cast all care aside, 
And close his weary eyes, hoping to find 
The rest he covets, and the sweet repose 
Beneath the shadow of thy somber wing. 

Elizabeth U. McKinney. 



THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. 

She's only an "old-fashioned girl," she says, 

(Is it not enough to disgrace?) 
An "old-fashioned girl" with womanly ways, 

And a winsome and womanly face; 
A girl who is innocent, modest, and sweet, 

Who is sensible, earnest, and true — 
The kind that will surely be obsolete 

In another short year or two. 

She isn't ambitious for questionable fame, 

She doesn't ape man in her dress, 
She doesn't read books that have a bad name, 

Nor herald her "views" in the press ; 
She doesn't use slang, nor smoke cigarettes, 

Nor loudly expound "Woman's Rights," 
She shuns all the fads of the "fashionable sets," 

And "home" is her chief of delights. 

She 's only an "old-fashioned girl," you see, 

And not in the least "up-to-date," 
But she is the kind of a girl for me, 

And the kind that I want for a mate. 
I know it is very "old-fashioned" to say 

Your wife is a "saint from above," — 
But I own I am fond of her "old-fashioned" 
way, 

And proud of her "old-fashioned" love! 

Arthur Grissom. 

145 
10 



LITTLE GIRL. 

Her dear little doll lies sleeping so sweet 
Where our darling last put her to bed, 

And the dear little doll never heeds to our grief 
That its own little mother is dead. 

The dear little chair, where our darling once 
sat, 
Still stands in her own little room, 
And the little chair knows not the cause of our 
grief. 
Knows not that we 're shrouded in gloom. 

The little play-house, where her sweet laugh 
rang out 
When she gave a "tea party" or "ball," 
Stands just as she left it, arranged for the 
night. 
Ah! we dreamed not that night would soon 
fall. 

The play-house, the doll, and the little "bye" 
chair, 
And the room where our darling once slept. 
Now serve to remind us how near to our hearts 
The dear little angel had crept. 

John Meyers Paxson. 



THE LEGEND OF ZUNL 

[A party of topographical engineers, while making a survey of the 
Pacific coast, came into the valley of the Zufii just after a terrific 
storm had swept over the fair land. In order to appease the storm 
and to save the people from another deluge, the Cacique, in spite of 
the entreaties of the engineering party, ordered the most beautiful 
maiden of the tribe to be offered as a sacrifice. The incident sug- 
gested the following lines.] 

The distant thunders roll'd afar; 

The fearful lightnings fill'd the sky, 
Hiding the face of every star 

'Mid rushing tumults drawing nigh. 
A night of gloom came o'er the dale 

In which the tribe of Zufii dwelt, 
A stream dash'd wildly thro' the vale 

As the affrighted peons knelt, 

With upraised hands, in prayer begun, 

How sadly, solemnly it rose 
To Montezuma and the sun! 

The only God the Zuni knows. 
What consternation fill'd their minds 

As toward the Mesa now they fled, 
Leaving their dying ones behind 

To perish in their watery bed. 



147 



\ 



148 MISSOURI VERSE. 

The ruin'd tower, the dismal place — 

Once beautiful, tradition said; 
The home of the disbanded race, 

The valley of the Zuni dead. 
Time passed, with his moving tread, 

When o'er the Mesa they had rear'd 
A city; but the torrent dread, 

With swelling waves, need not be fear'd. 

It was in autumn's sunset hour, 

When the Pacific breezes stirr'd, 
That o'er the great Zunian tower 

A gentle maiden's prayer was heard 
In supplications, sadly low, 

Where before images she lay 
Her overburden'd weight of woe, 

The Cacique's orders to obey. 

Who, to appease the troubled water, 

That the flood come not again, 
Offered Zuni's fairest daughter, 

A child, to sacrificial reign; 
While she, to her ill-fated doom, 

Dar'd not resist her ruler's will; 
But calmly, in her girlish bloom, 

Brought flowers to the altar still. 



THE LEGEND OF ZUNI. 149 

Where she knelt, but not alone, 

Another came; of manly face, 
With features fair and full of grace, 

And bowed, too, at the imaged throne, 
His form, of a set, sturdy cast, 

Though born not of a warlike band. 
Who roam beyond the desert vast, 

Carrying fear throughout the land. 

The moon grew pale with softer beam, 

And fell o'er valley and o'er stream 
Where knelt Wahoora and Waheen, 

Surrounded by the chiefs in power. 
And where the swelling waters lave, 

They both were sadly, strangely bound. 
Lo! plunged beneath the dark, deep wave, 

Their struggling forms sank deeply down. 
Theresa J. Freeman. 



EUGENE FIELD. 

The sweetest Western singer sleeps, 

Stilled by Death's lullaby. 
O'er Babyland a sorrow sweeps — 

A gloom across the sky. 
He did not seek the starry steeps 

And windy heights of song, 
But strolled and sang where Baby creeps 

His toys and dreams among. 

He coined in rhyme the age of gold. 

Translated toddlers' tears 
To music, making hearts grown cold 

Warm back to happy years. 
His heart was full as heart could hold 

Of Love's own gentleness. 
He taught sour Age to soothe, not scold; 

He carolled Christ's caress. 

The Laureate of the Little Ones, 

The lark of Childhood's dawn, 
The King of Quips, the Prince of Puns, 

Youth's Owlglass, thou 'rt not gone! 
E'er yet thy frolic fancy runs, 

With fairies frisks its fill. 
In days to be, 'neath senile suna, 

Thy soul goes singing still. 

William Marion Reedy. 

150 



SECOND LIFE. 

If I should die, dear love, and dwell apart 

From you, who deem me fairest in your sight. 

Let not my absence grieve your lonely heart, 
Or put your happiness to sudden flight. 

For if sometimes you long to feel me near, 
To hear in words of love again my voice, 

Go forth and breathe the peace in nature, dear, 
And listen to her teachings, and rejoice. 

For I shall be with you on every side, 
You '11 recognize me in a thousand ways; 

And all my beauty, that was once your pride. 
Will still be yours, as in the old sweet days. 

The yellow of my hair will live again, 
Within the tassel of the ripening corn, 

Or in the buttercup that stars the plain 
And welcomes with the lark the coming 
morn. 

The color that was wont to grace my eyes 
Will meet you in the violet's tender blue, 

Or in the harebell, that 'neath summer skies 
Flecks the clear landscape with its azure 
hue. 



151 



152 MISSOURI TERSE. 

And if the ruby of my lips you miss, 

Go kneel among the poppies' scarlet bed; 

And there, forgetting all sad hours, kiss 
In tenderness their leaves so darkly red. 

The restless brook will murmur oft my name, 
The wind will sigh my wishes overhead 

Among the whisp'ring trees, that nod the 
same 
As when of yore our days in love were wed. 

Thus will I love you through all coming days, 

And I will live for you through countless 

years ; 

I '11 speak to you in summer's Junes and Mays, 

The dewdrops on the grass my answering 

tears. 

For naught is lost; the beauty once my dower, 

The colors that of old did light my face, 
Shall live again in blooming plant and flower, 
That borrow from my dust their hue and 
grace. 

Minnie Mclntyre. 



WHITE CLOUDS. 

Like clusters of lilies floating 
O'er the depths of the April sky, 

The masses of soft, white vapors 
In twilight drift slowly by. 

They catch the gleam of the sunset 
As they pass o'er the glowing bar 

That stretches along the horizon 
Just under the evening star. 

And swiftly their pearly whiteness 

Dies away in a fiery red, 
And the earth beneath grows lurid 

By the crimson glow that they shed. 

Till broken and massed together 
They lie, distorted and black, 

Gaunt wrecks of the day-time's glory 
Strewn over the sunset's track. 

So lives, once lovely and stainless, 
Have drifted into the flame 

Of passion and power, till ruined 
And darkened with crime they became, 



153 



154 MISSOURI TERSE. 

The whiteness of honor crimsoned 
By the shame of their fatal course, 

And the blaze of an untrue glory 
Blackened by fierce remorse! 

Adela Stevens-Cody. 



LIFE. 

"Life is beautiful, life is dear!" 
The maiden said in the spring of the year 
When the hawthorn blooms and the plum- 
tree 's white, 
And the heart, with hope, beats warm and 
light. 

"Life is a burden, life is gloom!" 
The woman thought in her lonely room; 
Nor love, nor rest had cheered her way, 
But sacrifice had marked each day. 

But the maid saw clouds pass over the sun, 
And love found the woman ere life was done. 
For sorrow and joy must strive forever; 
No heart holds all. for they blend together. 

Grace Hewitt Sharp. 



THE TEMPLE OF JUSTICE. 

[Dedicated to the Bench and Bar.] 

There stood in Eden once, as legends tell, 
A regal temple, bathed in heaven's own 
light; 
But when our happy parents sinned and fell, 
That temple felt the avenging curse and 

blight, 
And would have sunk in deep and endless 
night, 
But God in mercy had its fragments thrown 
O'er all the earth; and now they greet our 
sight 
Where'er we go, in every clime and zone! 
Each fragment of that temple is a precious 
stone. 

In after-ages, on Moriah's brow, 

King Solomon a wondrous temple raised, 
Built as was shown upon the mount; and now 

We do not marvel that the nations gazed 

Entranced, or that the Queen of Sheba 
praised 
The master architect; for ne'er before 

Had earth's admiring millions stood amazed 
In view of such a structure; never more, 
Perhaps, will such a temple greet us on Time's 
shore. 

155 



156 MISSOURI TERSE. 

But we are workmen on a temple, too, 
A glorious temple, shielding human rights; 

And if we labor as good men and true, 

Our consciences will bring us such delights 
As duty, faithfully performed, invites. 

Then bring for this grand temple precious 
things — 
Sapphires and rubies, emeralds, chrysolites: 

We do not build on vain imaginings; 

We trace the streams of truth to their celestial 
springs. 

Through coming ages will our temple stand, 
The grandest product of man's mind and 
heart; 
Its dome and spire point to the better land, 
Its walls and towers attest the builder's art. 
I only ask to bear an humble part 
In fashioning the work — to have my name 

Inscribed upon its walls ere I depart; 
I ask but this, and make no other claim 
To that which heroes bleed for, and the world 
calls Fame. 

George W. Dunn. 



FAITH'S TRIUMPH. 

A little miss, a beam of bliss, 
With face as sweet as a fairy's kiss, 
With joyous cry, with spirits high, 
One morn in June, went tripping by. 
Her golden hair, like sunlight fair, 
Shone lustrous through the morning air; 
Her deep blue eyes were summer skies, 
In whose clear depths no clouds arise. 
Her step was light, her smile was bright, 
Her image charmed my ravished sight; 
"The world is fair," I said, "the air 
Is laden with God's love and care; 
An angel's hand has touched the land 
And painted beauties rich and grand; 
Both bird and bee, in bush and tree, 
Are chanting heaven's own minstrelsy." 
That morn in June passed all too soon, 
Like notes from some entrancing tune. 
I stood alone; the maid was gone, 
And with her form the spell had flown. 

In sun and rain I watched in vain, 
A glimpse of her again to gain; 
I asked her name unknown to fame; 
My fond hopes died; she never came; 
Then I forbore; my heart was sore. 
Would this sweet vision come no more? 

157 



158 MISSOURI TEESE. 

One winter's morn, with hopes forlorn, 
I saw a 'form before me borne. 
With soft, slow pace, and solemn face, 
They bore it to its burial-place. 
I saw the bier and dropped a tear 
For this fair maid who was so dear. 
Life's shattered bowl! Death's final goal! 
A shadow fell upon my soul. 
"The world is dark," I said, "no spark 
Of light to guide life's fragile bark. 
Man's certain doom is death and gloom. 
Is there no hope beyond the tomb? 
Oh, why these tears, these doubts and fears? 
Why dread the fate of coming years? 
Day follows night. Hope's star is bright. 
Faith rends the clouds and heaven 's in sight.'' 

George W. Coffman. 



PSALM 133. 

As softly down from Herruon flows 
The dew on Zion's lovely hills, 

New life imparts to Sharon's rose, 
And all the land with gladness fills — 

As down from Aaron's sacred head 

And o'er his beard and priestly gown 
The oil in soft effusion fled, 

And filled the air with fragrance 'round- 
So blest, so sweet the joy divine, 

When brethren here in union dwell, 
In acts of love their beauties shine, 

And softest words their feelings tell. 

More lasting far than Hermon's dews — 
More sweet than Sharon's fairest rose — 

More rich than odors, oils diffuse, 
The joys that Christian love bestows. 

Oh, thus may we in union love, 
And drink its richest pleasures in, 

Till borne on angels' wings above, 

Triumphant there with Christ to reign. 
H. M. Sydenstricker. 



159 



SONNET ON RECEIVING A ROSEBUD. 

It comes to me with words so soft and sweet 

From hands of her to whom my thoughts oft 
stray, 
And linger, fondly linger, there to meet 

The happy smiles that on her count'nance 
play. 
I look upon this bud, it gives a smile, 

And kiss its opening petals as I could 
The one who gave it me, and it the while 

Is blushing sweet and deeply; so she would. 

It speaks to me a language all it's own — 

It is enough, — I love its whispered voice, 
For sure it is affection's cherished tone; 

It moves my soul and makes my heart 
rejoice. 
I would requite the gift, but well I know 
My heart she has. What more can I bestow? 

John William Ellis. 



160 



WHAT BRINGS THE YEAR? 

The birth of a new year hailing, 
With feasting, dancing, and song, 

Will the music turn into wailing 
Ere the glad new year is gone? 

Thou comest with joy and singing, 
With a step as light as the air, — 

What to our hearts art thou bringing? 
Oh, young year so laughing and fair. 

Is it love, bright fortune, and glory, 
And pathway strewn with flowers? 

Or is it a tragical story 
To finish this life of ours? 

Oh, what are thy fair wings bearing, 
That gleam in the frosty glow? 

What fate for our hearts preparing? 
How well we should like to know. 

Art thou bringing for us a blessing, 

Balm for our grief and fear; 
What goal is thy treasury possessing? 

What bringest thou, O Year? 

Adelaide E. Yroom. 



161 



A PRAYER FOR CHARITY. 

Open our eyes, O Lord! We do not see 
The languid step, the sunken cheek that cries 

For food that satisfies, the silent plea 
For sympathy. O Lord, open our eyes ! 

Open our ears, O Lord ! We do not hear 

The stifled sigh, foreboding sobs and tears 

Of childhood orphaned by strong drink, the 
fear 
That haunts in sleep. O Lord, open our ears! 

Open our hands, Lord! We close them tight 
In greed of selfish gain of houses, lands, 

Against the widows' call for help, the right 
Of the oppresed. O Lord, open our hands! 

Open our minds, Lord! We do not read 
The thoughts of God aright; the truth that 
binds 

Us back to Thee we miss, lost in a creed 

That men devise. O Lord, open our minds! 

Open our hearts, O Lord ! We do not feel 
For others' woes; the priest within us parts 

Us from the fallen on life's way — reveal 
Again thy Christ! O Lord open our hearts! 

Edward A. Allen. 

162 



REFLECTION. 

A lily on the river brink 

Bent down her stately head to drink, 

When lo! her loveliness was mirrored there! 
A happy, innocent surprise 
Looked back from her own shining eyes, 

And yet she knew not her own image fair. 

A moon swung o'er a rippling sea, 
In a web of gems all silvery 

That kindled down the mazy Milky Way! 
The sun leaned out of the west to see, 
But he never guessed — oh no, not he — 

Whose flame-heat in that silver glory lay! 

A maiden by life's river stood — 
She found its waters fair and good! 

And sweet with flowers of innocence and 
truth. 
It was her pure soul imaged there 
That grew those perfumed blossoms rare — 
The blossoms of her joyous, guileless youth. 

Lillian Kelley. 



163 



THE OLD HAT. 

It is old and worn and faded, 

There is dust on brim and crown; 
For the eyes beneath it shaded 

Lips of Death are kissing down! 
On the wall I see it swinging 

In the old, accustomed place; 
Through my soul's recesses bringing 

Visions of his vanished face! 

Yes, 'tis old and worn and battered, 

Like the one it served so well; 
And, though rent and rudely tattered. 

What a tale it seems to tell ! 
As it hangs here mute before me, 
Voices down the aisle of years 
Surge and throng, resistless, o'er me, 
Till mine eyes grow dim with tears! 

Seared his brow with age, and hoary 

Were his locks of frosted hair; 
Ah ! they told the old, old story — 

Time had left his traces there! 
As a sturdy oak, storm-riven, 

Bends before the Borean blast; 
As a shattered hulk, wave-driven, 

Wrecks upon the shore at last; 

164 



THE OLD HAT. 165 

So the years on solemn surges 
Bore him to that clime away, 

Where the dawn in darkness merges, 

Where the shadows hover gray; 

Where so many dreams have drifted, 
Where so many hopes have flown ; 

Where the pall, by Death uplifted, 
Floats across the water's moan ! 

Ah! the night's gray pinions quiver 

Now across his lonely grave, 
And the grasses bend and shiver 

As a wind-lull'd ocean wave. 
Weary hands, in peace reposing, 

Folded o'er a quiet breast; 
Shrouded eyes, no light disclosing — 

Tired heart has found its rest! 

And a far, dim star-beam lingers 

Where the twilight glories fall: 
And the fairy moonbeam's fingers 

Touch his old hat on the wall; 
There it hangs with mute appealing 

In the old, accustomed place, 
And across the night wind stealing 

Comes again his vanished face! 

J. Allen McDonald. 



NATURE'S LOVERS. 

The hunter loves the shadowy forest drear, 
Where wily fox and watchful turkey hide; 

The limpid, bubbling spring, where timid deer 
Drink cooling draughts, and then near by 
abide; 

With cautious step he threads the silent wood, 

'Tis here he freely finds his daily food. 

The sturdy farmer ploughs the fallow field, 

And, trustful, sows the tiny, pregnant grain ; 
Then sunshine, soil, and shower rich beauties 
yield, 
Unconscious all of labor's art or pain ; 
The conquered earth to her rude conqueror 

gives 
Reward full large and free, — and thus he lives. 

The tourist seeks the perfume-breathing mead, 
The cloud-kissed hills that give a prospect 
wide, 

The rustic lanes where browsing cattle feed, 
And birds in chorus sing on every side; 

Forgot is all the hum of busy mart, 

Where joys of boyhood days delight the heart. 



166 



NATURE'S LOVERS. 167 

The artist, weary of his classic toil, 
And longing for some bright, refreshing 
scene, 

Leaves far behind the dingy town's turmoil, 
And studies Nature's ever-restful green; 

Her beauties unadorned his thoughts control, 

And landscape visions cheer the aesthetic soul. 

The poet, high-born seer, with instincts fine, 
And holier sight than use or art e'er knew, 
Discerns those nobler beauties, gifts divine, 
That teach mankind to love the good, the 
true; 
With skylark notes his lyric genius sings, 
And soars to heavenly heights on spirit wings. 

S. A. Lynch. 



IM GRUENEN WALD. 

Im griinen Wald, da weil' ich gerne; 

So still, so heilig ist es da; 
1st auch das Liebste nock so ferae, 

Die Seele ist ilini doch so nah\ 

Im griinen Wald fiihlt man recht innig, 
Wie leicht dasHerz sich selbst geniigt, 

Wie drauszen man so widersinnig 
Mit eitlem Streben sich betrtigt. 

Im griinen Wald mocht' ich genesen 
Von all' dem Treiben dieser Welt, 

Da, wo noch nie ein Mensch gewesen, 
Noch keinen Baum die Axt gefallt. 

Im griinen Wald, da mocht' ich lauschen 
Zum letzten Mai des Vogels Lied, 

Wenn leis' dazu die Blatter rauschen, 
Indesz das Abendroth vergliiht. 

Im griinen Wald, da mocht' ich sterben, 
Von dichten Zweigen iiberdacht, 

Wo noch kein Menschenwerk Verderben 
Und Noth und Thranen hingebracht. 

Ernst A. Ziindt. 



168 



THE MYSTIC ANGEL, SLEEP. 

Out of what dreamy laud, 
Or league of sea or shadow, 

Or lakes where lilies staud, 
Or over suows and meadow, 

Cometh the tender augel, Sleep, 

To those that either laugh or weep? 

In all the long years fled 
Beyond the phantom river, 

No saint nor seer hath said: 
"I saw his pinions quiver, 

And heard across the silent night 

His coming or his mystic flight." 

Swift from some meadow bed 

Of poppies, white as laces, 
Or from the days long dead 

Amid the vanished faces, 
May be he mounts the dusky sky 
Where clouds of fading scarlet lie. 

But all we ever know, 

When once his spell hath bound us, 
And sleeping soft and low, 

The world is lost around us, 
Comes in the rosy tide of dreams 
As sweet as lilies over streams. 

169 



170 .MISSOURI TERSE. 

For, when the morning gates 

Swing back in silver glory, 
This angel never waits 

To hear our drowsy story, 
Whether the morrow comes again 
In splendid rapture or in pain. 

Enough to us that he 

From poppy bed or meadow, 
Or from some league of sea, 

Hath brought through dusk and shadow 
That sweetest gift of those that weep 
Or laugh — the blessed balm of sleep. 

George W. Ferrel. 



PANSIES. 

[Lines sent with a basket of pansies to a bride.] 

"There 's pansies — that 's for thoughts." 
"Thoughts and remembrance fitted." 

Ophelia and Laertes, in "Hamlet?' 

Where other gifts are rare and fine, 
I bring the thought-flower to thy shrine: 
Pansies, that smile with shy surprise, 
And mystic-sweet, like lovers' eyes! 
So from their velvet opal tints 
Interpret happy bridal hints ; 
And find a wish, that fair as these 
May be thy moments of "heart's-ease." 
Cora M. Stockton. 



AT THE GATE. 

October 's standing near the side 

Of yonder eastern gate, 
Clad like an oriental bride 

In purple state. 

Within her arms she bears a sheaf 

Of russet and of gold — 
Love's tribute of a faded leaf 

From forests old. 

"Farewell to these September eves," 

The golden goddess sings; 
Her voice is like the whispering leaves, 

The murmuring of wings. 

"Farewell! I'll lay upon these tombs 
A wreath of withered flowers; 

The dead can take no note of blooms 
Or banished hours. 

"They sleep, nor see the radiant rose 

Nor singing birds o'erhead — 
The troubled heart hath found repose, 

And grief is dead." 

171 



172 MISSOURI VERSE. 

Then let the golden goddess glide 
Through yonder eastern gate, 

Clad like some sensuous Syrian bride, 
Symbolical of fate. 

George W. Ferrel. 



MISSOURI. 



Know you the land where the "Big Muddy" 

flows, 
The land where the sun in his full splendor 

glows; 
Where Spring cometh early and scattereth her 

flowers, 
And Summer stays idling through long golden 

hours; 
Where Autumn pours out her full wealth o'er 

the land, 
And Winter grows mild as he gives you his 

hand? 
'Tis the State of Missouri. An empire she 

stands, 
Like a gem in the midst of that crown of all 

lands ; 
Like a tower of strength with its battlements 

sound, 
She stands midst the States that encircle her 

round; 



MISSOURI. 173 

Like a goddess she moves midst her sisters so 

fair, 
And in beauty and strength few with her can 

compare. 

We love our great land, that Republic of States, 
Whose triumphs the whole world with wonder 

awaits. 
She is teaching the nations the lesson of peace, 
That nations by friendship their glory increase, 
That all men are brothers, and each has a part 
In the wealth that abounds through perfection 

of art. 
Oh, grand is our country and strong is each 

State, 
Each one is an empire with destiny great; 
But first midst those empires Missouri will 

stand, 
And still will her honor and glory expand. 

Her race just begun, oh, who can foresee 
The strides she will make in the years that 

shall be? 
Her resources scarce touched the long years 

will unfold. 
And then will her power and wealth be untold. 
On the flag as it floats o'er the land or the sea, 
Midst the stars that shine there, not a brighter 

will be 



174 MISSOURI TERSE. 

Than that of Missouri, who stands in her place. 
And with confidence turns to the future her 

face; 
And the circle of States, as they watch her 

move on 
With her head in the day, like a mountain at 

dawn, 
Her motto will catch, and respond to her call, — 
"United we stand, divided we fall." 

M. L. Hoffman. 



A.F'F^BNIDIZX:. 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES. 



MISS SUSAN ALEXANDER was born at Pioche, 
Nevada, in 1876, and came with her parents to 
Missouri in 1S83. She is, at present, a student at the 
University of Missouri. Her verses have appeared in 
The Argus and other University publications. 

EDWARD ARCHIBALD ALLEN was born in 
Virginia, and educated at Doctor Gessner Harrison's 
Classical School and University of Virginia. He 
was professor of English and modern languages in 
Central College, Fayette, Missouri, from 1881 to 1885. 
Since 1885 he has been professor of English language 
and literature in the University of Missouri. 

LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN, "Sangamon," was 
born in St. Louis, Missouri, 1854; graduated at Wash- 
ington University, 1878; and prepared for the minis- 
try at Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, 
New Jersey. Since 1889 he has had charge of the 
South Park Presbyterian Church at Newark, New 
Jersey. Doctor Allen's verses have from time to time 
been published in The Independent, and other periodi- 
cals. In December, 1895, he won the $1,000 prize 

175 



176 APPENDIX. 

offered by the New York Herald for the best epic poem 
based upon some episode in American history. The 
subject of the poem, which has been published in book 
form, is Abraham Lincoln; The Star of Sangamon. Doc- 
tor Allen still claims to be a Missourian; in a recent 
letter he says, "I hold in high esteem and love my 
native State and birthplace, St. Louis, and my alma 
mater, Washington University." 

MISS JESSIE ANDIS was born in Atchison 
County, Missouri, August 12, 1878. She graduated 
at the High School, Tarkio, Missouri, 1896. 

CLARENCE ELLSWORTH ARBUCKLE was 
born iD Hendricks County, Indiana, September 25, 
1871. When six years of age, he went with his par- 
ents to Wichita, Kansas; and a few years later re- 
moved to Aix, Webster County, Missouri, where he 
is now living. 

JOHN JAY BAILEY was born in New York City, 
September 15, 1833; and married, April 15, 1858, Miss 
Mary Frances, daughter of Ex-Governor Thomas 
Ford, of Illinois. He was librarian of the Public 
School Library, St. Louis, 1865-1877; and actuary of 
the Mercantile Library, St. Louis, 1889-1891. Since 
that time, he has been engaged in commercial business 
in St. Louis. Besides his numerous short pieces in 
verse, he wrote a long one entitled Art, which was 
read before the St. Louis Art Society, October 30, 1874, 
and was afterwards printed in book form. 

WILLIAM CLARK BARNARD was born near 
Cincinnati, Ohio, June 30, 1870. When a child he was 
taken by his parents to Oregon, where he spent the 
greater part of his boyhood. Later he came to Mis- 
souri; received his literary education at the Neosho 



APPENDIX. 177 

High School; and graduated from the Marion Sims 
College of Medicine, 1897. 

NATHANIEL MORTON BASKETT was born in 
St. Louis, Missouri, April 5, 1853; and received the 
greater part of his literary education in the St. Louis 
Public Schools. He graduated at the Missouri Medi- 
cal College, St. Louis, 1876. He was coroner of Ran- 
dolph County, Missouri, 18S0-18S4; editor of St. Louis 
Medical Advance, 1889-1890; and State Senator from 
the Ninth Missouri District, 1892-1896. Doctor Bask- 
ett published a volume of verse, Visions of Fancy, 
1884. 

MISS HATTIE E. BATTSON was born near Troy, 
Missouri, 1865. She received her preparatory educa- 
tion at Edward's High School, Troy; graduated at St. 
Charles College, St. Charles, Missouri, 1894; and 
taught English literature at St. Charles College the 
following year. Miss Battson is now living at Pal- 
myra, Missouri. Her book of verse, Dust or Diamonds, 
was published in 18S6. 

MRS. MARY J. BENTON was born at Camillus, 
New York, and educated at Red Creek Seminary, New 
York. Since 1890 she has been residing in Kansas 
City, Missouri, where she has been a regular con- 
tributor to local papers. Her verses have been 
used by papers in Kansas, Michigan, and New York. 

MARY BRYANT is a native of Virginia. She was, 
for several years, teacher of English literature at Cen- 
tral College, Lexington, Missouri. A collection of her 
verses in a volume entitled Fantasma appeared in 1879. 

WILLIAM VINCENT BYARS was born in Cov- 
ington, Tennessee, June 25, 1857, where, under his 
father's instruction, he received a classical education. 
He came to Missouri in 1879. After working for a 

12 



178 APPENDIX. 

short time with the St. Louis Daily Times and Evening 
Chronicle, he became one of the leading editorial writ- 
ers for the Republic, and remained with that paper 
until he removed East in 1S93. He is now a resident 
of South Orange, New Jersey, where he is engaged in 
newspaper and literary work, but still claims Kirk- 
wood, Missouri, as his home. His Studies in Verse, an 
occasional periodical, began to appear in St. Louis in 
1892. Since then they have been published in book 
form at the rate of about one number a year. 

WILLIAM HAMILTON CLINE was born in 
Upper Sandusky, Ohio, December 24, 1868. He at- 
tended the ward schools in Cleveland, Ohio; came to 
Kansas City, Missouri, 18S0; attended the Central 
High School, Kansas City, until 1883. Since 1885 he 
has been connected with the Kansas City Times. Mr. 
Cline's verses have been widely copied by Eastern 
publications. 

MISS ELIZABETH DRAKE COBB was born at 
Columbus, Missouri, January 12, 1838; and was edu- 
cated at Lexington, Missouri. She was teaching at 
Pleasant Hill, Missouri, when she died, April 28, 1859. 
Just before her death, she had begun to collect her 
verses with the view of publishing a book. 

MRS. MARY ADELA STEVENS-CODY was born 
in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, January 7, 1848, and is of 
Scotch-American descent. On her father's side she 
claims relationship to the Scotch poet, Sir David Lynd- 
say. Her mother was a native of Baltimore and a 
typical Southern woman. Her parents came to St. 
Louis in 1849 and removed to Normandy, Missouri, in 
1857. In 1870 she graduated from the St. Louis Nor- 
mal, and became a teacher in the St. Louis Public 
Schools. In 1876 she married Thomas F. Cody, of 



APPENDIX. 179 

Normandy. Her verses have been extensively used 
by local and national publications. 

GEORGE WILLIAMSON COPFMAN was born 
near Lancaster, Ohio, February 8, 1859. He came to 
Missouri in 1876; received his preparatory education 
at the Hamilton (Missouri) High School; and gradu- 
ated from the University of Missouri in 1884, and was 
awarded the McAnally medal for writing a poem 
entitled Goldsmith as a Humorist. In 1887 he gradu- 
ated from the Chicago Homoeopathic Medical College, 
representing his class as valedictorian. Doctor Coff- 
man is at present practicing his chosen profession at 
Garden City, Kansas. 

MRS. MARTHA W. PREWITT - DONEGHY, 
daughter of Robert T. Prewitt, was born at Fayette, 
Missouri, November 24, 1853. She was educated at 
Howard-Payne and Central Colleges, Fayette; and 
afterwards studied in New York City. She taught at 
Howard-Payne College; St. James Academy, Macon 
City; and the State Normal, Kirksville. In 1882 she 
was married to Alexander Doneghy, a lawyer at 
Kirksville. Since then she has made Kirksville her 
home; and from time to time her verses have appeared 
in various papers and magazines. She is, at present, 
editing The Norns, a journal to which only women 
contribute. 

MRS. ANNIE A. STEVENS-DUGAN, "May Myr- 
tle," was born in Scottsville, Pennsylvania, 1844. She 
removed to Sedalia, Missouri, 1866; and was married 
to George E. Dugan in 1870. Mrs. Dugan has written 
verse for various newspapers and magazines; and 
published a book of verse entitled Myrtle Leaves; and 
a booklet, Muriel; or, Love's Sacrifice. She has ready 
for the press a metaphysical story entitled Atleda; or, 
The History of a Soul. 



180 APPENDIX. 

GEORGE WASHINGTON DUNN was born near 
Harrodsburg, Kentucky, October 15, 1815. He was 
admitted to the bar in 1838; came to Missouri in 1839; 
was appointed circuit attorney in 1861; appointed 
judge of the fifth judicial circuit in 1848; elected to 
the same office in 1851, 1857, and 1880. Judge Dunn 
died at his home near Richmond, Missouri, in 1891. 
His book of verse, Temple of Justice and other Poems, 
was published in 1882. 

JOHN N. EDWARDS, Jr., is the eldest son of 
Major John N. Edwards, the celebrated author, sol- 
dier, and journalist. His mother was Miss Mary 
Virginia Plattenburg, of Dover, Missouri. He was 
born in Kansas City, Missouri, July 9, 1872, and edu- 
cated by the Jesuits at St. Mary's College, Kansas. 
He has contributed verses to the Kansas City Times, 
Lexington News, and other papers of the State. He 
has been identified with St. Louis journalism for four 
years, and is now connected with the St. Louis 
Republic. 

J. BRECKENRIDGE ELLIS was born near West 
Ely, Missouri, February 11, 1870. He graduated from 
Plattsburg College, Plattsburg, Missouri, 1886; and, 
since that time, has been teaching literature in that 
institution. He has written both prose and verse 
which have been received favorably by the Louisville 
Courier-Journal, and other leading papers. 

JOHN WILLIAM ELLIS, A.M., Ph.D., L.L.D., is a 
native of Kentucky. He graduated at Georgetown 
College, Georgetown, Kentucky, class of '60; and two 
years later received, from the same college, his Mas- 
ter's degree. He removed to St. Louis, Missouri, in 
1869, where he practiced law until he entered the 



APPENDIX. 181 

teachers' profession. Since 1880 he has been presi- 
dent of Plattsburg College, at Plattsburg, Missouri. 
Doctor Ellis has written much for the press, and has 
published three booklets of verse: The Life Mission, 
Antigone, and The Song of Songs. 

GEORGE W. FERREL was born in Cooper 
County, Missouri, in 1855, and educated at the Boon- 
ville Academy and Kemper Military Academy, Boon- 
ville. He did reportorial and editorial work on the 
Boonville Eagle and Advertiser; was founder and 
editor of the Boonville Topic; was city editor of the 
Sedalia Democrat, Bazoo, and Capital, and Springfield 
Leader, editor of the Pleasant Hill Review, and Black 
Hills correspondent of the Chicago Mines and Omaha 
Herald; was associated with Eugene Field as literary 
editor of the Kansas City Times, and was, for a short 
time, connected with the Kansas City World. Mr. 
Ferrel read the annual poem before the Missouri 
Press Association at three meetings. He is now asso- 
ciate editor of the Sedalia Sentinel. 

EUGENE FIELD was born in St. Louis, Missouri, 
September 2, 1850. When seven years old he was 
taken to Amherst, Massachusetts, where he remained 
for thirteen years under the charge of his foster- 
mother, Miss Mary Field French. He attended Wil- 
liams College, 1868; Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois, 
1869; and the University of Missouri, 1871. In 1872 
he visited Europe; and on his return became reporter 
for the St. Louis Journal. He married Miss Julia 
Comstock, of St. Joseph, Missouri, October 6, 1873. 
In 1875-6 he was city editor of the St. Joseph (Mo.) 
Gazette; later editorial writer on the St. Louis Journal. 
In 1880, he was on the staff of the Kansas City Times, 



182 APPENDIX. 

but left that paper in 1881 to become managing editor 
of the Denver Tribune. August 13, 1883, he accepted 
a position on the editorial staff of the Chicago Morning 
News (now the Record), and remained in connection 
with that paper until his death, November 4, 1895. 
His celebrated poem, Christmas Treasures, was written 
when he was connected with the St. Louis Journal; 
and The Little Peach, when he was with the Kansas 
City Times. 

MRS. THERESA J. ELDRIDGE FREEMAN was 
born and educated at Paris, Kentucky; married at the 
age of seventeen to Mr. William Freeman, a lawyer; 
removed to Louisiana, where she remained until the 
death of her husband, 1857. Since that time Mrs. 
Freeman has lived in St. Louis, Missouri. Her verses 
have been widely copied by leading papers and maga- 
zines. Several of her stories have appeared in book 
form. Huntington; or, Scenes of Real Life, 1890, is her 
latest production. 

R. E. LEE GIBSON was born at Steelville, Mis- 
souri, January 14, 1864. He was educated in the pub- 
lic schools of his native town and the Naval Academy, 
Annapolis, Maryland. Mr. Gibson is, at present, a 
clerk in the Health Department, St. Louis. With him 
verse-writing is a pleasure and a pastime. His book- 
lets, Mineral Blossom, Sonnets, and Indian Legend and 
other Poems, which were printed for private distribu- 
tion, contain his choice verses. 

JAMES F. GORE was born in Fremont County, 
Iowa, November 15, 1872. He has spent the greater 
part of his life in Atchison County, Missouri. He 
graduated at Tarkio College, Tarkio, Missouri, 1897. 
While attending school Mr. Gore took an active inter- 



APPENDIX. 183 

est in his college paper, The Phoenix; won several prizes 
in oratory and debate; and, in connection with Mr. E. 
B. Stevens, a fellow-student, issued a booklet of verse 
entitled College Deliriums. 

WILLIAM EMORY GRIFFITH was born at Mem- 
phis, Missouri, February 15, 1876. Since 1888 he has 
made Kansas City his home. For several years he has 
been engaged in journalism and literary work. He is, 
at present, collecting and revising his verses with the 
view of publishing them in book form. 

ARTHUR GRISSOM was born in Payson, Illinois, 
January 21, 1869. He graduated at Woodland College, 
Independence, Missouri, in 1887, and immediately 
adopted the literary profession. His verses have ap- 
peared in most of the New York periodicals and mag- 
azines. In 1894, when the editor of the Midland 
Monthly, Des Moines, Iowa, offered a prize for the best 
original poem submitted to his magazine, the prize 
was awarded to Mr. Grissom for his poem, To a But- 
terfly. Many of his lighter verses that have appeared 
in Life, Truth, Yogue, and similar publications, have 
recently been collected and published in book form in 
a volume entitled Beaux and Belles. He is, at present, 
engaged in literary work in New York City. 

FRANK S. HASTINGS was born at Leavenworth, 
Kansas, in 1860, and educated at Notre Dame Univer- 
sity and the University of Michigan. He has been 
connected with the executive department of the 
Armour Packing Company, Kansas City, for the past 
ten years. His literary work has been confined to 
leisure hours, and is what he chooses to term random 
thoughts for his own amusement. 



184 APPENDIX. 

WILLIAM RICHARD HEREFORD, "Marcellus 
Rafferty," was born in St. Joseph, Missouri, February 
2, 1871. He received his literary education at Ran- 
dolph-Macon College. After several years of active 
work with the Kansas City papers, he went to Har- 
vard University and took the course in law, and was 
admitted to the bar at Independence, Missouri, in 
1894. In 1895 he was appointed Secretary of the 
Legation at Berne, Switzerland, by Minister J. L. Peak. 
His verses have been received by the Kansas City 
papers, New York Recorder and Sun, Harvard Lam- 
poon, Puck, Judge, The Dramatic Mirror, Harper's and 
Munsey's Magazines. 

MARTIN LUTHER HOFFMAN was born near 
Auburn, Indiana, August 26, 1859; graduated from the 
University of Indiana, 1885; taught two years in the 
High School, Indianapolis, Indiana, and five years in 
the Central High School, Minneapolis, Minnesota; and 
studied mathematics at Cornell University one year. 
In 1895 he came to Richmond, Missouri, and taught 
mathematics at Woodson Institute one year. While 
teaching at Woodson Institute he had printed, for 
private distribution, a booklet of verses, entitled 
St. Helena and other Poems. Mr. Hoffman is, at pres- 
ent, instructor of mathematics in the University of 
Indiana. 

HORACE A. HUTCHISON was born in Howard 
County, Missouri, November 24, 1833, and educated 
at the Kemper Family School, Boonville, Missouri. 
Mr. Hutchison was, for many years, an active news- 
paper man. He is, at present, practicing law at Boon- 
ville. A collection of his verses, under the title of 
Old Nick Abroad and other Poems, appeared in 1895. 



APPENDIX. 185 

MISS BERTHA MAY IVORY was born in St. 
Louis, Missouri, November 20, 1866, and educated at 
the convent of the Sacred Heart in her native city. 
Her verses were used by Frank Leslie's Magazine, The 
Home Journal, Picayune, Woman's Tribune, and other 
publications in St. Louis, Chicago, and New York. 
Her book of verse, A Cluster of Roses, appeared in 
1895. She died at her home in St. Louis, October 16, 
1892. 

MRS. LILLIAN KELLEY was born in Saline 
County, Missouri, 1856; educated in private schools; 
and married in 1S75 to G. B. Kelley, editor Moberly 
(Mo.) Monitor. She has spent all her married life in 
Moberly. Her book, entitled Verses, is dedicated to 
her only child, a boy, born in 1882. Mrs. Kelley is of 
a retiring disposition and does not wish to be regarded 
as an aspirant for literary honors. With Ruskin, she 
believes that the women of whom the world never 
hears are the women whose influence is most bene- 
ficial to humanity. 

WILLIS PERCIVAL KING was born in Ma- 
con County, Missouri, December 21, 1839. His father 
and mother, who were both Kentuckians, came to 
Missouri and "settled" in Howard County in 1816. 
The romantic circumstances that surrounded Doctor 
King in his childhood days, while his parents were 
"forted up," in order to prevent the depredations of 
the Indians, peculiarly fitted him to become the author 
of Stories of a Country Doctor. Doctor King graduated 
at the St. Louis Medical College in 1866; and after- 
wards studied at the Polyclinic, New York City. He 
is, at present, surgeon at the Missouri Pacific Rail- 
road Hospital, Kansas City. 



186 APPENDIX. 

S. A. LYNCH was born in Madison County, Illinois, 
August 27, 18G8; and graduated at the Edwardsville 
High School, Edwardsville, Illinois, 1883. He came 
to Missouri in 1885; and graduated at the University 
of Missouri, 1892. He was superintendent of the pub- 
lic schools at California, Missouri, from September, 
1892, to June, 1895. Since October, 1895, Mr. Lynch 
has been taking post-graduate work in English lan- 
guage and literature in the University of Chicago. 

MRS. S. A. A. McCAUSLAND (Austin Arnold 
McCausland) was born December 10, 1839, at Arnold- 
f els, the ancestral family seat of the Virginia Arnolds, 
who trace their ancestry back to the famous Doctor 
Thomas Arnold, of Rugby. She has lived the greater 
part of her life at Lexington, Missouri, where, on 
August 23, 1860, she was married to Mr. W. G. 
McCausland. Mrs. McCausland has painted, com- 
posed music, and written verse with no other purpose 
than the pleasure of doing it. Her verses have ap- 
peared from time to time in leading newspapers and 
magazines. 

WALTER A. McCAUSLAND was born in Lafay- 
ette County, Missouri, February 17, 1859; and was 
educated in the public schools at Lexington, Missouri, 
He was admitted to the bar in 1889, and has since 
been practicing law at Howard, Kansas. His verses 
have appeared in various papers in Missouri and 
Kansas. 

JAMES ALLEN McDONALD, "Sursum," was born 
at Richmond, Missouri, December 3, 1859; and edu- 
cated in the public schools of his native town. Since 
his father's death, 1890, he has been the head of the 
firm of M. F. McDonald's Sons, Richmond, Missouri. 



APPENDIX. 187 

In 1896 Mr. McDonald won the prize offered by the 
Chicago Dry Goods Reporter for the best original poem 
on the theme, For the Merchants of the West. His verses 
have been used extensively by local papers and by 
leading papers in Detroit and Chicago. 

MRS. MILDRED S. McFADEN, a native of Warren 
County, Missouri, was educated at the Christian 
School, Troy, Missouri, and the Western Educational 
Institute, now Central Wesleyan College, at Warren- 
ton, Missouri. Soon after the death of her husband, 
Mr. Marshall N. McFaden, she began teaching music 
and followed this vocation until 1892. Since that time 
she has been on the editorial staff of the Chaperone 
Magazine, St. Louis. Some of her best verses will be 
published for the first time in the volume she is now 
arranging for the publishers. 

MISS MINNIE McINTYRE, "Virginia," was born 
in St. Louis, Missouri, 1874. She has spent most of 
her life in Kansas City, Missouri, where she has, from 
time to time, contributed her verses to the Kansas 
City papers, and to Puck, Kate Field's Washington, and 
other Eastern publications. Miss Mclntyre is, at pres- 
ent, assistant editor of the Horse Show Monthly, of 
Kansas City. 

MRS. ELIZABETH USTICK McKINNEY, "Clyde 
Campbell," was born at Dover, Missouri, April 11, 
1844; and graduated at the Dover Seminary in 1860. 
She was married in 1866 to Mr. L. W. McKinney; and 
has since resided at Moberly, Missouri. Mrs. McKin- 
ney's verses have been used by local and national 
publications. She won one of the prizes offered by 
the Esterbrook Pen Company in 1895 for the best 
original poem. 



188 APPENDIX. 

JULIUS LUTHER MARSHALL was born near 
Lexington, Missouri, November 21, 1831; and availed 
himself of such opportunities as were offered him in 
the country schools. Mr. Marshall is a self-made man. 
Not having an opportunity to attend college, he has 
gained his literary education by reading standard lit- 
erary works. He has over four hundred volumes in 
his private library. His verses have been widely 
copied by the press. 

MRS. MARIA USTICK MUSICK, "Estelle," was 
born at Dover, Missouri, February 23, 1846. While a 
child, at school, she wrote her compositions in rhyme; 
and "saw herself in print" at eleven years of age, 
when some of her verses were published. In 1866 she 
was married to John E. Musick. She is at present liv- 
ing in St. Louis. 

G. W. OGDEN was born in Johnson County, Kan- 
sas, 1871. He is a journalist by craft. While connect- 
ed with the Kansas City Star, his verses often ap- 
peared in that paper, and were copied by many other 
national publications, such as the Chicago Inter-Ocean, 
Chicago Post, and Overland Monthly. 

JOHN MEYERS PAXSON was born in Louisiana, 
Missouri, December 9, 1875; and educated at Went- 
worth Military Academy, Lexington, Missouri, and at 
Drury College, Springfield, Missouri. He was, for 
some time, reporter for the Kansas City Times; now 
connected with the St. Louis Star. 

WILLIAM M. PAXTON was born at Washington, 
Kentucky, March 2, 1819; and educated at Center Col- 
lege, Danville, Kentucky. In 1839 he removed to 
Platte City, Missouri, where he practiced law until 
1873. Becoming hard of hearing, at that time, he gave 



APPENDIX. 189 

up his law practice and turned his attention to litera- 
ture. In 1879 he published a small volume of verse. 
In 1884 he visited his mother's relatives, the Marshalls, 
of Kentucky, Virginia, and Maryland, and issued a 
volume of genealogies and life-sketches of his people. 
A second book of his verse appeared in 18S7. He has 
recently completed a large volume, embracing the 
annals of Platte County, Missouri, with genealogies of 
more than three thousand families. Mr. Paxton is 
revising his verses with the view of issuing another 
volume. 

C. L. PHIFER was born and educated at Vandalia, 
Illinois. Mr. Phifer has been connected with the Mis- 
souri press for thirteen years. He is at present editor 
and owner of the Transcript, at Pacific, Missouri. Be- 
sides his epic, Annals of the Earth, which was published 
in book form, many of his verses have appeared in 
pamphlet form. 

JAMES ADDISON QUARLES, "Dunlora," was 
born near Boonville, Missouri, April 30, 1837. He 
was, for twelve years, president of Elizabeth Aull 
Seminary, Lexington, Missouri. At present he has the 
chair of Philosophy in Washington and Lee Univer- 
sity, Lexington, Virginia. Professor Quarles' verses 
have appeared in leading publications, such as Louis- 
ville Courier-Journal, St. Louis Presbyterian, Southern 
Collegian, and Christian Observer. 

MPS. ALICE D. READ was born in Hardin 
County, Kentucky. Part of her childhood was spent 
in St Charles, Missouri. She graduated from Beth- 
lehem Academy, in her native State, in 1865. In 1866 
she was married to Captain J. B. Read, and in 1870 
removed to Nebraska, where she remained until 18S6, 



190 APPENDIX. 

when she came to Mineral Springs, Holt County, 
Missouri. After Mr. Read's death, she went to York, 
Nebraska, where she now resides. 

WILLIAM MARION REEDY, "Marion Reed," was 
born in St. Louis, Missouri, December 11, 1862. He 
was educated in the public schools, by the Christian 
Brothers, and finally by the Jesuits of the St. Louis 
University. He went to work on the Missouri Republi- 
can, as reporter, in 1880, and has been in the news- 
paper business in St. Louis continuously since. He is 
now owner and editor of the St. Louis Mirror. 

MRS. CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY RUNCIE 
was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, January 15, 1836. 
She spent the greater part of her girlhood at New Har- 
mony, Indiana; and subsequently studied at Stutt- 
gart, Germany. In 1861 she was married to Rev. 
James Runcie, D.D., and came to St. Joseph, Missouri, 
in 1871, where Doctor Runcie was rector of Christ 
Church until his death, 18S9. Mrs. Runcie published, 
in 1887, a book of verse, entitled Poems, Dramatic and 
Lyric. 

VAN CLEAVE WHITMER SCHWEICH was born 
in Richmond, Missouri, May 15, 1878, and has spent 
most of his life in his native town. His verses have 
been used by local papers. He graduated from Wood- 
son Institute, Richmond, Missouri, June, 1S97. 

MISS GRACE HEWITT SHARP, daughter of Rev. 
George W. Sharp, was born at Kirksville, Missouri; 
and educated at the State Normal in her native town. 
Soon after graduating, Miss Sharp went to Texas and 
taught in the Oak Cliff Academy and Sacred Heart 
Convent, Dallas. She is now teacher of history and 
elocution in the State Normal, and assistant editor of 



APPENDIX. 191 

The Norm, Kirksville, Missouri. Her verses have been 
used by the Waverly Magazine, Round Table, Christian 
Herald, and other publications. 

THOMAS BERRY SMITH was born in Pike 
County, Missouri, December 7, 1S50; and graduated 
at Pritchett Institute, Glasgow, Missouri, A.B. 1873, 
A.M. 1879. He took a special course at Yale Univer- 
sity, 1875-76; taught in his alma mater at Glasgow, 
State Normal at Kirksville, Carleton College, Minne- 
sota, and since 1886 has been professor of chemistry 
and physics in Central College, Fayette, Missouri. He 
married Miss Emma Marvin Newland, of Richmond, 
Missouri, in 1S77. Professor Smith published a chart, 
''Circle of the Material Sciences," in 1880, and a text- 
book, Studies in Nature and Language Lessons, in 1890. 
His verses have appeared from time to time in various 
State and national periodicals. 

MISS WILLENE MARIE SPHAR was born in 
Saline County, Missouri, March 7, 1879. She gradu- 
ated at the Marshall High School, Marshall, Missouri, 
1895— the youngest member of a class of twenty-five. 
Her verses were used by the Marshall papers before 
she was sixteen. 

MRS. CORA MITCHELL STOCKTON was born 
at Shawaugunk, New York, in 1835; and educated at 
Poughkeepsie, New York. She lived in Kansas City, 
Missouri, a number of years, and was an active mem- 
ber of the Western Authors' and Artists' Club. Her 
book, entitled The Shanar Dancing-Girl and other Poems, 
appeared in 1892. She is, at present, living in Kansas 
City, Kansas. 

HIRAM MASON SYDENSTRICKER, A.M., Ph.D., 
was born at Lewisburg, West Virginia, September 26, 
1858; and educated at Washington and Lee University 



192 APPENDIX. 

and Union Theological Seminary, Virginia. He took 
post-graduate work at Chicago and Chautauqua, 
New York, from 1885 to 1895. In 1895 he received 
the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at Wooster, Ohio. 
While at the University of Chicago, Doctor Syden- 
stricker gave special attention to the Oriental lan- 
guages. He published in 1S94 a volume entitled The 
Epic of the Orient. He is now residing at Marshall, 
Missouri, and expects to publish soon another volume, 
The Epic of the Apocalypse. 

WILLIAM DAVID SYLVESTER was born in Han- 
cock County, Indiana, May 2, 1867— the same county 
in the Hoosier State where James Whitcomb Riley 
first saw light. Mr. Sylvester has made Missouri his 
home since 18S0. Soon after coming to Missouri, he 
attended school for a short time at Pilot Grove Col- 
legiate Institute; and has since been engaged, a great- 
er part of the time, in newspaper work. 

MRS. MARY USTICK THISTLE, the eldest daugh- 
ter of Charles T. and Susan E. Ustick, was born at 
Marion, Virginia, 1838; and while an infant was 
brought by her parents to Lafayette County, Missouri. 
She began writing stories and verses for the Lexing- 
ton papers at the age of fourteen. She was married 
to John P. Thistle, of Warrensburg, in 1859, and died 
at Columbia in 1890. The Ustick family claim rela- 
tionship to the celebrated naturalist, John J. Audubon, 
and the poet, John Greenleaf Whittier. 

MISS ANNE TOZIER was born at North Anson, 
Maine, July 19, 1874. She comes of sturdy Puritan 
stock, being a descendant of the illustrious Edward 
Rawson, secretary of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, 
1650-1686; and counts in direct line of her ancestry, 



APPENDIX. 193 

on her mother's side, Ralph Waldo Emerson. She 
received her early education under private tutors, and 
later in the schools of Kansas City, where she has 
resided for the past ten years. Miss Tozier's verses 
have found ready sale to Truth, Life, and like publica- 
tions. Her forthcoming book, The Hammock Swings, 
will contain her best verses. 

FRANK TRIPLETT was born in Kentucky, 1848; 
came to Missouri in 1860. In 1865 he went West, but 
later went to New York City and began work as a fine 
art auctioneer. He is, at present, living in Kansas 
City, Missouri. His verses are used by the Kansas City 
Times, and other city papers. 

MISS ADELAIDE E. VROOM was born in Roch- 
ester, New York; and spent her childhood in Canada. 
In her early youth she came with her parents to 
Missouri; and was educated at Mount Pleasant Col- 
lege, Huntsville. Miss Vroorn has contributed to 
newspapers and magazines, and her verses have been 
widely copied by the press. 

GEORGE H. WALSER was born in Dearborn 
County, Illinois, May 26, 1834. He practiced law at 
Middleport, Illinois, from 1857 to 1863. Since 1863 he 
has lived in Missouri. He founded the town of Liberal, 
Missouri, in 1880. Mr. Walser has published two vol- 
umes of verse, Poems of Leisure, 1891, and The Bouquet, 
1897. 

GEORGE WOODWARD WARDER was born at 
Richmond, Missouri, and educated in the public 
schools at Chillicothe, and at the University of Mis- 
souri. After teaching school and practicing law for a 
few years, he went to Kansas City, where he made a 
success as a large dealer in real estate. Colonel 



-13 



194 APPENDIX. 

Warder's writings, both prose and verse, have received 
many favorable comments from critics. He has pub- 
lished three volumes of verse: College Poems, Eden 
Dell; or, Love's Wanderings, and Utopian Dreams and 
Lotus Leaves. 

MRS. LORENA MICHELL WEBB, "Little Vio- 
let," was born at Caruthersville, Missouri, October 8, 
1869. She was married, May 28, 1896, to Mr. E. A. 
Webb, editor of The Democrat, Caruthersville. Her 
verses have been used by Missouri newspapers. 

MES. ANNA M. WEEMS was born at Natchez, 
Mississippi; and educated at Lindenwood College, St. 
Charles, Missouri, and at the convent of the Sacred 
Heart, New Orleans, Louisiana. She is, at present, 
residing at Moberly, Missouri. Her verses have ap- 
peared in various publications in America and 
England. 

EDWIN ARTHUR WELTY was born at Canal 
Dover, Ohio, December 5, 1853; came to Missouri in 
1856; and graduated at the High School, St. Joseph, 
1872. Mr. Welty is now residing at Oregon, Missouri. 
His book of verse, Ballads of the Bivouac and the Border, 
was published in 1896. 

FRANK BURDETTE WILSON was born in Fre- 
donia, New York, October 13, 1846; graduated at the 
Fredonia Academy; came to Chicago in 1865; thence to 
Missouri in 1872, where he has since lived. He has 
traveled extensively in the West, and while there cor- 
responded with newspapers, and gathered material 
for many of his stories and verses which have since 
appeared in The Dictator, The Old Homestead, The Great 
Divide, and similar publications. 



APPENDIX. 195 

GEORGE WILSON was born near Ottuinwa, Iowa, 
October 6, 1847. At an early age he came with his 
father to Lexington, Missouri; and was educated at 
the Masonic College, then in Lexington. At the break- 
ing out of the Civil War he went West, where he re- 
mained until he was called to Lexington to succeed 
his father as president of the Lafayette County Bank. 
Mr. W T ilson, besides writing verse and composing 
music, has written important articles on finance, such 
as The Principles of the Science of Money. 

MISS ROSE EMMETT YOUNG was born near 
Higginsville, Missouri, August 31, 1869; and educated 
at Lexington, Missouri, where she lived until 1890. 
After spending two years in Texas, she went to Chi- 
cago to accept a position on the Medical Century. She 
remained in Chicago four years on the staff of the 
Medical Century, in the capacity of literary editor and 
business manager. She is, at present, business man- 
ager of the same periodical in New York City. Miss 
Young's verses have appeared in the Chicago Tribune, 
and other leading papers. 

ERNST ANTON ZUENDT was born at Mindel- 
heim, Germany, and educated at the University 
of Munich. He came to America in 1857. and 
was for a short time connected with the Green- 
bay Post, Greenbay, Wisconsin, and later with the 
Westlichen Post, St. Louis, Missouri. He taught Ger- 
man in the public schools at Jefferson City, Missouri, 
from 1868 to 1876. He was connected with the Freien 
Presse, Minneapolis, Minnesota, from 1886 to 1888. He 
then removed to Jefferson City, Missouri, where he 
resided until his death, May, 1897. 



Missourians Who have: Written Books 
and Pamphlets of Verse. 

ALLEN, LYMAN WHITNEY. 

Abraham Lincoln; The Star of Sangamon, 1896. 
BAILEY, JOHN JAY. 

Art, 1875. 
BASKETT, NATHANIEL M. 

Visions of Fancy, 1884. 
BATTSON, HATTIE E. 

Dust or Diamonds, 1886. 
BENTON, MARY J. 

An Epigram on Kansas City, 1893. 
BLACKWELL, R. 

Original Acrostics, 1869. 
BROCKMEYER, HENRY C. 

Foggy Night at Newport, 1860. 
BRYANT, MARY. 

Fantasma, 1879. 
BYARS, WILLIAM VINCENT. 

The Tempting of the King, 1892. 

Studies in Terse, 1895. 
COPE, SAMUEL W. 

Songs of Praise, 1894. 
CREWSON, E. A. 

Old Times, 1893. 
DEWY, G. M. 

Railway Spire. 

What Made Us Mortal. 
DONEGHY, M. W. PREWITT. 

Tne Feast of Skeletons; or, New Year's Eve, 1891. 

196 



APPENDIX. 197 

DORMAN, ALLEN. 

Poems, 1892. 
DUGAN, ANNIE A. STEVENS, "May Myrtle." 

Myrtle Leaves, 1885. 

Muriel; or, Love's Sacrifice, 1896. 
DUGAN, LIZZIE, "Rosa Pearler' 

An Editor's Life, 1882. 
DUNN, GEORGE W. 

Temple of Justice and other Poems, 1882. 
ELLIS, J. W. 

The Life Mission, 1876. 

The Song of Songs, 1897. 
FETTERMAN, J. C, "Joe Sephus." 

Street Musings, 1895. 
FIELD, EUGENE. 

Little Book of Western Verse, 1889. 

With Trumpet and Drum, 1892. 

Echoes from the Sabine Farm, 1892. 

Love Songs of ChildJiood, 1894. 

Second Book of Verse, 1896. 
GARRETT, THOS. ELWOOD. 

The Masque of the Muses, 1885. 
GIBSON, R. E. LEE. 

An Indian Legend and other Poems. 

Mineral Blossoms. 

Sonnets. 

GILDEHAUS, CHARLES, 

Mneas, A Drama, 1884. 
GORE, JAMES F. 

College Deliriums, 1895. 
GRISSOM, ARTHUR. 

Beaux and Belles, 1895. 



198 APPENDIX. 

HARLOW, VICTOR E. 

The Nations and other Poems, 1894. 
HIGGS, IRA. 

The Prodigal Son, 1891. 
HOFFMAN, M. L. 

St. Helena and other Poems, 1896. 
HUTCHISON, HORACE A. 

Old Nick Abroad and other Poems, 1895. 
IVORY, BERTHA MAY, "Antoyiiar 

A Cluster of Roses, 1895. 
JUSTUS, EMORY W. 

Poems and Poetical Gems, 1887. 
KELLEY, LILLIAN. 

Verses, 1896. 
KERLIN, ROBERT T. 

Mainly for Myself and One or Two Others, 1897 
LUTZ, JOHN HENRY. 

Earnest Reflections, 1896. 
MARTIN, L. A. 

Huxter Puck and other Poems, 1895. 
PAXTON, WILLIAM M. 

Poems, 1879. 

Poems, 1887. 

The Vision of Narva, 1891. 
PHIFER, C. L. 

Happy Pilgrim, 1885. 

Love and Law, 1889. 

Wild Flowers and Voices, 1889. 

Annals of the Earth, 1890. 
PORTER, W. H. 

Seven Original Poems by an Old Blind Man, 1887. 



APPENDIX. 199 

QUARLES, JAMES A. 

A Christmas Medley. 
REITER, MARY E. 

Pure Gold, 1896. 
REAVES, REBECCA MORROW. 

Course of Empire and other Poems, 1886. 
RENO, FRANK P. 

Sheaf of Rhymes, 1896. 
RICE, MARTIN. 

Rural Rhymes, 1893. 
ROWNTREE, ALFRED HENRY. 

Poems and Songs on the Queen of England, 1897. 
RUNCIE, CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY. 

Poems, Dramatic and Lyric, 1887. 
SANBURN, MATTHEW PIERCE. 

Thoughts in Verse, 1881. 
SAPP, SOLON N. 

Half an Hour; or, Truth, in Mask, 1875. 
SIMMONS, ANNA WILSON. 

Heart Whispers, 1895. 
STOCKTON, CORA M. 

The Shanar Dancing-Girl and other Poems, 1892. 
SYDENSTRICKER, HIRAM MASON. 

The Epic of the Orient, 1894. 
THOMAS, L. F. 

Poems, 1842. 
THOMPSON, I. A. M. 

Free Hymns. 
TIFFANY, OLIVE E. F. 

Floral Poems and Others, 1893. 



200 APPENDIX. 

TRESCOTT, GEORGE E. 

Chirps, 1895. 
UMPHRAVILLE, ANGUS. 

Missouri Lays and other Western Ditties. 
WALSER, GEORGE H. 

Poems of Leisure, 1890. 

The Bouquet, 1897. 
WARDELL, FANNIE I. SHERRICK. 

Love of Fame and other Poems. 

Star Dust, 1888. 
WARDER, GEORGE W. 

College Poems, 1873. 

Eden Dell; or, Love's Wandering, 1874. 

Utopian Dreams and Lotus Leaves, 1885. 
WATSON, GEORGE A. 

St. Louis, 1882. 
WELTY, EDWIN A. 

Ballads of the Bivouac and the Border, 1896. 
WILSON, WILLIAM COTTER. 

Death's Prime Minister, An Allegory. 
ZUENDT, ERNST A. 

Ebbe und Fluth, 1894. 



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